Sanctuary
by Starry Eyed Wonder
Summary: (AUVH)It was in high school they had first kindled the flame-the flame that steadily grew into a fire-after they met again ten years later. Broken promises, selfless love-the quest for a place called Sanctuary commenced.
1. I Silent Whispers

**A/N: This is Dariel's b-day present---HAPPY TWENTY, YOUUU!!!! (hugs madly). Note that the quotations or snippets of poetry in the beginning of each chapter—belong to me. If you're listening to a song make it either "Warning Sign" by Coldplay or "The Scientist." That's what I have listened to for most of this fic. Ohh yes, this will be updated in three days; updates to be fast, for once! I haven't been dead, but actually writing!!! **

**Continue on…**

**.x. S A N C T U A R Y .x.**

**I. Silent Whispers**

_ Softly, slowly, like a hazy morning _

_Amongst the misty mountain tops,_

_The wrinkles of water smoothed _

_And I saw You._

Chup. Chup. The sound of her running feet layered the symphony of the falling rain. Crystalline drops dripped down as clemency for the tarnished soul and the girl continued her trek, her raincoat zipped up, yet the insidious moisture stole in, seeking shelter in her warmth.

She paused under a tree trying to catch her breath. Gently easing off the cap that covered her head, shiny honey-blonde strands bounded out, happy to be freed from the confined quarters.

A rustle of leaves, a crunch as if someone had stepped on them.

A wailing wind stung her cheeks like a violent kiss from a lover, and her green eyes darted around searchingly as she rubbed a palm to sooth the nip.

No one.

Heat poured into her icy fingers as the friction kindled a flame. A lusty wind came with a sudden force carrying along her warm cap that she'd placed carelessly on a branch. "Damn," she cursed, knowing it was useless to follow the untamed wind. Taking in a deep breath, she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat and once again rushed to her destination.

Spiky, long, dark lashes over cinnamon-auburn eyes trailed the figure and a momentary emotion gave spark to his eyes that quickly disappeared leading one to believe that it was imagined.

He clutched the gray, knit cap in his fingers, bringing it to his nose.

A delicate scent mingled—fresh as the morning after a night of thunderstorms. He closed his eyes as a man would if he'd found peace.

OOO

"Oh, Hitomi!" Dressed in an expensive, short plaid skirt Yukari Uchida, age seventeen looked the epitomical picture of elegance. "I didn't know you were coming." The other girl knew; it was more along the lines that _I didn't know I invited you._

Green eyes surveyed her, looking deep into her hazel ones for a moment, and then Hitomi shrugged. "Your mom insisted I come." She had been livid, as her mother had with a cheery force badgered her to get ready for her cousin's birthday when Yukari's mother had oh-so-innocently invited her daughter.

"Oh," she laughed nervously as the blaring music continued in the background, "Come in." She opened the door further to let her cousin enter. No, there was something about Yukari Uchida that glimmered on her surface, a polished finish of perfection—and Hitomi had a nagging suspicion that she even cried prettily.

Her eyes softened. There was a time when there was no air of stiffness between them, when they'd been as close as sisters, twins—but it hadn't taken much for her cousin to discover her _true_ value amongst the royalty in her high school—which apparently did not include Hitomi.

And Hitomi Kanzaki would damn herself to hell before she would follow her like a puppy at her beck and call; slowly, steadily, her circle of friends decreased, one by one leaving her alone to quickly eat lunch and stroll around the school to eventually curl up under a tree with a book.

If you'd ask her, she'd deny it but an aching emptiness, a swirl of darkness made her heart heavy.

She was unhappy, he could sense, just by her posture, her expression. A lost lamb amongst a den of wolves. _Go to her._ The command, and desperate need sprung so surprisingly that for a moment his breath hitched.

Drowning the glass of punch, with one last brief look in her direction, he turned away.

Boys and girls danced in a mad frenzy, drunken talk found in some discreet corners where cans of beer were passed as in a kind of sick initiation with contests of who could chug most.

Yukari's parents were blissfully unaware of the nature of their angelic daughter's party as only last night they'd received a phone call giving the news of the death of one of her parents' best friends. Now, there was an advantage to having understanding parents and daughter. They hadn't wanted to ruin her birthday party that would declare her eighteen years old and Yukari had charmingly confided that she couldn't keep them away from the funeral; it would seem like a deep injustice.

"C'mon, you little, Miss Angel," Yukari had sprung out of seemingly nowhere and dragged her by the wrist, "We're playing Truth or Dare."

"I—no, really," she was perplexed as she felt uncomfortable. These were no little foolish games in which one would dare to sing a bawdy song or tell someone 'I love you.' "I'm okay!"

"Ohh, shut up, and come," an indifferent voice contradicted. Yukari smiled profusely as she passed her guests, patting someone's back and muttering a comment that made them laugh, and rolling her eyes and holding her cousin's hand as if she was a newborn with a deficient mental capacity. Hitomi's teeth grit as she made her way through the throngs of people.

Somewhere she bumped into someone—or really, a male, black jacket to her—as she was deprived of looking into his face when mumbling an apology since her cousin yanked her onwards.

And thus the cruel game commenced. Gathered into a circle were approximately nine people—six being girls with three boys. The bottle spinned for the first time. She gasped with relief as it struck upon a blond girl with a messy ponytail. She had chosen a dare and they'd made her make-out with poor Ben Robinson, a geek of sorts who might've qualified for a friend except for one thing. Hitomi hadn't met an even more perverted man in her life. She felt nauseated as the bottle began spiraling again and the chants rose around her.

With a breath still locked in her throat, she watched the bottle with concentration, shutting her eyes at the last second.

The threatening opening of the bottle looked at her maliciously, as a noose would to a man being hanged.

Yukari jumped up, "It's you, Hitomi! Woohoo! We got her, guys!!" Applause burst forth and some whistled as the only feeling in their victim's stomach was a sort of frozen shock.

She gulped, "I'll take Truth." The boys cackled and the girls drowned her voice yelling 'Dare!' She didn't how, but inevitably, there was a great silence and the girls flocked in a corner to decide in what manner to torture Hitomi. Somehow, the dare had stuck.

Yukari finally came up with a solemn smile, looking like a damning angel with her glossy auburn hair framing her face. "Weell, since we decided that we'd hate to be harsh with you and pick someone up, we decided what to grant you." She smiled triumphantly. "You and some other. Alone in a closet. Seven minutes of heaven." The laughter and cheer was roar but Yukari yelled in cheery excitement to hush them, "Any guy—except Ben here, who's had too many kisses already—can claim her for seven minutes."

Getting close to her, she hissed, "What the hell do you think you're doing, Yukari?!"

"Oh hush, it's only for your best." She shrugged nonchalantly, "You should notice my brilliance—you'll only get someone who wants you—so his affection will be true…and if none do, then you're free from this." Oh yeah, she did see her brilliance. Brilliance in making a mockery of her. Considering the fact that she didn't even seek a second of heaven with any of these savage beasts whose euphemism also happened to be 'boys', but if none of them offered—it would be her utter humiliation. To be not desired, not wanted in such a public way, was as close to a social failure as any teen girl could get close to.

She told herself she didn't care, no, she'd take this as she'd taken everything in her life; from looking after her kid brother who she'd just recently caught smoking a joint to her horror, hiding upstairs in her room when her father came home drunk, her mother's nagging voice berating him.

But apparently, she didn't need to worry about being a social failure, because not one but _two_ boys stepped up for the task.

"I'll have 'er," the blond boy said, obviously drunk as he couldn't walk quite straightly, with an inane smile on his face that made her stomach clench. _Oh no…_

"The day both of us gets accidentally steered towards the Pearly Gates, _maybe_ then you will." The words carried a degree of harshness, with its definiitive, commanding tone and had a certain echo so she couldn't place where she'd heard them. Her eyes traveled through the crowd that tittered in amused, and as if the Messiah Himself had come through, the throng of people parted and made way for the voice.

"Why you bastard!" Blond-boy's voice snarled like an angry pit bull. "Go fuck a wall!"

She turned around and saw Him. He, who deserved capital letters just because she'd never been struck, never seen such cool authority, this inherent sincerity coupled with a feral finish that was constantly in debate. He was a contradiction. Deep, dark strands of hair cut short—compared to the longhaired fashion—and a face that was sculpted with impressively high jutting cheekbones stared back at her. His skin was olive toned, tan like melted honey in the summer sun but it was not the work of artificial means; no, he was born into it.

He gave a chilly smirk, his eyes containing an ocean of emptiness, "Well, we're all glad that at least someone here listens to their mother." He drawled, "Preaching what you practice, aren't you?" The half-drunk crowd roared with laughter and Blond-boy blushed crimson.

"Watch your back, you bastard! I swear, I'll get you!"

Hitomi backed away, bumping into Yukari who looked awe-struck. "Who is he?" the honey-blonde asked referring to the dark haired boy.

"Oh," she whispered reverently, "That's gotta be _him_." She looked down at her; the rays of the light making her shine magnificently, "He's Van Fanel."

"Van Fanel?"

She took in a ragged breath, "He called the cops on a party," she raised an amused lip upwards, "and got arrested himself. Some even say," she looked at her in the eye, "that he didn't even try to escape them."

"What?" But she couldn't quiz her any further when people pushed her towards the center in which the seventeen year old boy stood, a lone black wolf, wild, unpredictable, silently threatening. "No!" she growled at a boy who hastily shoved her and she came stumbling into him. Into Van Fanel. Steady arms gripped her shoulder and when she first saw his face, a chill so fierce scattered through her body that she felt like she had seen something terrifying.

But it was his eyes that numbed her.

They were beautiful. Deep hues of fresh sandalwood, a symphony of cinnamon and apples; they were maroon.

"Are you alright?" he asked the second time, a flicker of amusement causing his brow to raise. She went one step backward, her eyes still trained on his form when an oh-so-brief, ephemeral smile flashed across his face quickly to vanish. He outstretched a strong hand. "Come."

The word had a powerful effect on her, not a command, but a plea, a request. For that one moment, as he stood under the chandelier that cast a halo on his dark hair, he resembled the angel—be it fallen—that she'd always wanted to meet. Hesitantly, like the way an infant first tested its feet, she slid her palm into his own, inching over, feeling each of the crisscrossing lines, grooves on his palm.

Like the licking flames of a fire, undeniable warmth seeped into her and her hand fit into hers as if they were two pieces of a puzzle.

He closed his fingers over her palms so fiercely that her eyelashes shot up in shock. Thus, he pulled her, and with great ceremony, all the people in the party crowded near the auspicious closet. It was a vacant hall closet in which they'd usually put their coats into.

He twisted the knob, and when he opened the door for her to enter, the full force of her actions hit her like a desert storm. My God, she was going into a closet with a complete stranger for seven minutes! What sort of liberties would he take with her? Her conscience battled with her…he didn't seem like the predatory type…but often the ones who were didn't seem like that either.

Oh, what the hell had she gotten herself into?

She gulped and did what her instinct told her; she searched his eyes, her own pleading, panicked. It was as if he sensed her discomfort.

He leaned in, closer, and quite suddenly, his hot breath was a hair away from brushing the shell of her ears with his lips. In the eyes of the others, Van Fanel was brushing it, so close was his proximity. But instead, he whispered so softly that it might've been his breaths and the possibility that the words had been conjured from her imagination in her desperation for assurance, "I won't hurt you. I promise you."

She jerked away from him and entered the closet, her heart pounding, bloody rushing to her face, and hands shaking.

Some cackled boisterously, their voices slurred as they made vulgar comments.

The door clicked shut and she realized that she had closed her eyes for a moment. She cracked it open, getting accustomed to the light overhead. It wasn't the light that made her blink but…him. He cornered her, "Shh," he silenced her opening mouth with a finger. "They're watching from the glass," and indeed a small circular glass piece adorned the wooden door, and behind that door, people gazed in fascination.

"What are you-you going to do?" she asked softly, her tone urgent.

"Give them what they want," his lips lifted into a small smile. "I won't hurt you, Hitomi."

"How did you know my name?" he titled her chin at the question.

"How could I not know?" he whispered hoarsely, and with that, she gasped, as he pulled her into his arms, hugging her so tightly that she could barely register where her body left and his met.

"Van!" she squeaked, "please." It was a no-no. Embraces. She had despised them for their ability to say so much, for their ability to renew fake hope. They were a lie. Oh, there were so many ways of deceit, but this topped for most its occurrence. Words even faltered, but something as potent as an hug could lift a battered soul, heal the scratches temporarily, breathe life into the sunless caverns of one's heart.

He parted slightly, his breath like a dragon, fiery and soft like the caress of a cloud of cotton. "Stay still," he ordered. Her breaths were shallow, her heartbeats speeding up as if she'd run a mile, and it was then that his hands crept down from her back.

Lower, and lower they went, until he fingered the hem of her shirt.

She squeezed her eyes shut and momentarily stopped breathing when his fingers stole up under her shirt. "Don't do that!" she hissed.

Fingers of heat, they were like warm sunshine on her back.

"I said, I won't hurt you." His fingers didn't move, still latched onto the naked flesh of her lower back. "I won't take advantage of you," he lowered his mouth so his lips were intimately close to her collarbones. He moved his head up, painting the image as if his lips had traveled up the column of her throat. But to Hitomi, it might have happened as well. With the way things were going, she wouldn't have been surprised if she'd died from a heat stroke.

"Tell me," his voice was husky, "why are you sad?"

Her cheeks were pink as she denied his query. "I'm not."

"Right," his voice was pleasant, with the traces of a smile, "and God Himself will open the doors of heaven for me."

"That's not funny," she defended.

"So's your face. When was the last time you laughed?"

A dry chuckle poured from her lips, and she bit her lip, "Just now?"

His face was at the side of her cheeks now, his hair now tickling her slightly in a comfortable manner. "Hmm…that wasn't a laugh." he inhaled deeply.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Fire," he whispered into her ear.

Something strange was happening to her. Her legs felt like soft butter, her body like melting honey. She took a daring move and wrapped her hands around his waist, resting her head on the side of his chest for support, "Why were you arrested?"

He paused.

"How'd you know about that?"

She pressed a smile onto his black jacket and repeated what he had said, "How could I not know?"

He relaxed visibly. "They were all drunk and had too many shots of drugs…when this girl started having seizures." He halted for a moment, closing his eyes. "I had to call the ambulance, but the boys wouldn't let me. I gave one a black eye, and another a limping foot.

"The cops also came and arrested some of us for drinking and others for abuse." He shrugged, "there's nothing to the story. Some kids ran away, some too drunk to move, stayed."

"Why didn't you run?"

"And leave the girl to the mercy of the boys?"

"But then, how did you get out of jail?"

His lips became a firm line, "My lord Father came to the rescue," he bit out those words sardonically as if they tasted awful in his mouth, "and got me out. Not that I would've stayed there for long, anyway. They decided that I'd get a warning since I was the one who called for help and I wasn't partaking in substance abuse."

"Your father? What does he do?"

"He's a lawyer."

There was a silence and when she realized that she had bumped into him earlier, remembering the feel of the coat her hand had briefly touched.

It was then that Hitomi realized that the boy—no, the man—who stood before was as mysterious as the curtain of night, as veiled as a blanket.

And somehow, she trusted him.

"Hitomi?" he asked quietly, "Can I hold you?…hard?"

Her eyes widened and she nodded mutely. He didn't hesitate for a second as he yanked her in a violently tender manner into his arms, rocking her.

It moved her.

He held onto her as if she was his salvation, as if she was the only thing that existed, a floating log in a sea of betrayal, a cherished one.

The door creaked open and it was thus that the people of the party found Hitomi Kanzaki and Van Fanel.

OOO

It was raining again.

A cool breeze flitted across making the trees shiver. As she stood out of Yukari's house, she gazed at the expanse of roads stretched before her and feeling daring, she thought she would make a run for it. No matter that her mother would probably scold her severely for running into the rain, but Hitomi Kanzaki had always loved rain.

She had been born on a rainy night, when a moon had hung in the sky, vainly showing its pearly splendor, but slowly and surely, had come the rain drops that had shaken the town violently, making the trees bow, quake. Perhaps, it was the unleashed beauty that she'd always appreciated in storms, the display of complete power that it could make a man weak, useless, no matter how supreme he was.

With a smile on her face, she held onto her skirt, and made a dash for it. Her dress would be ruined, but she didn't care. She was halfway near her home when an angry arm shot out and jerked her to a stop.

She collided into the solid figure.

The sound of the rain was peaceful, like the rusticated melody of a forgotten song.

She blinked her eyes, lashes coated with water, yet dared to meet his eyes.

It was him.

"Here," he thrust an umbrella into her hand, the warmth, the intimacy gone of their previous encounter. It was as if she was meeting a stranger. He swore. "Are you crazy? You're going to get sick."

She took the umbrella from him with slight anger. Who was he to say that? He shook his head and not waiting for an answer, slipped his hands into his pant pockets and turned away from her. "Go home, princess."

A solitary figure walked in the rain, and for a moment she thought that it was the most lonesome sight she had ever seen.

Was it all right for him to get sick? A man who thought she shouldn't run in the rain, but…who walked himself.

OOO

His clothes clung to his form, and slowly he peeled them away, grabbing a new pair of pants.

He toweled his torso in his room that was dimly lit with a tiny lamp on his desk.

He sighed and cradled his head in his hands, sealing his eyes. The day came to him in flashes. God, it had been his undoing! An alien feeling had whipped his body until it had become so painful.

He had had another fight with his father. His father, oh how he despised the man. Often when he was a child, he had thought that maybe he had gotten switched at birth, perhaps, or maybe Goau Fanel was not his father—but some other kind man.

Ever since he could remember, he had always been treated like an adult. His father had been severe and had groomed from an early age to be his successor, to be a lawyer as renown as him.

Except, Van Fanel couldn't despise a thing more than law, for such a thing had made his father cold. He had become too jaded to see the honest feelings in his mother, too cynical to look at a woman crying heart-wrenchingly to just wave his hand away and dismiss it as manipulation. It had eventually led to their separation. His father had allowed his older sister Merle to go with her mother and had kept Van.

He clenched his fists.

Everyday he swore he would be different from his father. Not cold, not unfeeling.

A flash and another scene danced across his mind.

Her voice, her vague smile, her conservative ideas…

Hitomi.

It was an odd sort of attraction, one whose base wasn't really physical. He had spotted her from afar, the serious eyed girl and the aura of somber purity around her. She didn't flirt shamelessly with others, didn't even bother to even talk to them out of any pleasure. Her face, it was honest, devoid of any artificial make-up, clean. You couldn't say she was an example of feminine beauty, but there was _something_ to her that he couldn't put his finger on. Her features were actually normal; lashes that weren't too thick or fashionably long, softly rounded cheeks, a straight nose and frank green eyes.

A smile yanked the corners of his lips…ah, but she had a luscious mouth. The color of coral, they looked soft and rosy, pleading to be kissed, to be made love to.

No, he would rather _die_ than be like his father. It was his father's behavior that had lead to the death of his mother.

He would never harm Hitomi or any of those close to him.

OOO

She grinned into her book, her pulse racing as she read the deliciously beautiful poetry of Goethe. Absentmindedly, she nibbled on a celery stalk, soaking in the words with a dreamy expression.

The stalk slipped from her fingers and it was precisely then, her green eyes collided with maroon.

He raised a brow.

He was sitting in front of her, calmly forking a slick of wicked chocolate cake into his mouth.

"How long have you been here?" her eyes widened.

He lifted his head, his bangs playing hide-and-seek with his eyes, "For about six minutes." Before she could shove the book away, he reached for it, "What're you reading?"

"Goethe," she admitted reluctantly.

Instead of laughing at her, or mocking her, surprisingly, he smiled. "I'm suddenly jealous of the attention you give him. On another note," he was amused, "he suits you well."

"Really?" she drawled, brushing away a loose lock of hair. Right, like the guy knew what he was talking about. She'd have good reason to be surprised if a teenage boy was aware that Goethe wrote poetry. "Have you read anything by him?"

"The Roman Elegies…ahh… _Often I even compose poetry in her embraces,/Counting hexameter beats, tapping them out on her back/Softly, with one hand's fingers._"

She couldn't stop herself, couldn't cease the reaction no matter how much she wanted to.

She blushed, resembling the color of strawberries. She had read those very same lines…but she hadn't done justice to Goethe like him. It was the way Goethe had probably envisioned poetry to be read, melodic, husky leaving you tingly. "How come you're interested in him?"

He shrugged, "Got bored."

"Bored?" she highly doubted any boy with a sensible mind would turn to Goethe to mollify their ennui.

He didn't meet her eyes, "I read it this summer. They were my mother's books."

"Oh," it was awkward, his eyes still shadowed. She bit her lip. _Score, Hitomi. You're a brilliant conversationalist. You just made him think of something unpleasant. _

"It was my fault," he said so sporadically that she coughed on her drink of water. She waited for him to go on. "My father was angry at me this summer," that was not new news, "and thought taking away my freedom for a week would do excellently for me." He gave a disgusted laugh, "He took away all sources of my entertainment and that only left me with a stack of the books. I'd kept those away from my father, so that he wouldn't throw them away after my mother died." It was then he'd begun to write poetry, composing snippets, pacing like a caged animal. His father had locked him in his room for a week, only brining his meals, and Van had purposely seen to his annoyance to remain the same, unfazed self.

"Oh Van…I-I'm so sorry." Her throat felt sore. He shook his head. She had never known how to tactfully act in these situations.

"It's not your problem." Silently as he'd come, he left the table.

Too late, she remembered she had to still return his umbrella.

OOO

Carelessly she thought of how easy it was to pump personal information from the attendance office. She'd just flashed her Journalism ID that they all made for Journalism class, broke into a big smile and sweetly asked for Van Fanel's address whose "dad had ordered a school newspaper."

Apparently, that excuse worked well for she stood near his mail box.

The guy was rich.

The house was part brick and part limestone, with columns gracing its front and a small balcony overlooking the gardens that were lush with exotic blooming flowers.

Except it was quiet, dead, as if it hadn't felt any tender, loving hands.

She took a deep, courageous breath and walked up the pathway and rang the bell.

She bit her bottom lip and looked down at the floor.

The door creaked open…

She remained rooted to the spot. Dressed in a tight black t-shirt and dark jeans, he looked like the way rock stars should. His hair was messy, as if he'd been lying down, his face possessing a kind of stillness, a peacefulness that was rare.

"Hitomi."

"Van…oh hi." She faltered over the words, "I, I wanted to return your umbrella."

"Oh," he glanced at the black umbrella, "you could've returned at school tommorow. I wouldn't have cared." He wouldn't have cared if she hadn't returned it at all.

"Oh, I, well," she mumbled something.

"Come in," he said, turning around and opening the door wider, " I have something of yours."

Hers?

Cautiously, she stepped into the foreign territory, the hardwood floors gleaming. The house was dark, yet he found his way like an experienced cat would in its home and lead her upstairs…

…to his room.

Light blue walls gleamed cheerily with the minutest splashes of soft white, walls bare of posters and other knick knacks that had coveerec her's so that the least amount of the hideous hot pink of her room was visible.

"I like the color of your walls," she said without thinking.

He glanced at her in surprise, his look softening, "I had a thing for flying when I was young. My mother painted this room so I could think it was the sky." He didn't mention how intricately his mother had painted the ceilings so it resembled the earthy dark blue shades of the night sky, littered with thousands of stars. He had painted over them partly in his grief and to rebel against his father, his father that should've cared.

She smiled, "Ah, I think it's one of those boy stages. My brother has this huge binder with the stats of all the fighter planes."

He grinned, "What was yours?"

"My stage… hmm, I think I had one where I used to idolize Nancy Drew—the blond hair, the friends, the guys," she rolled her eyes, "the mystery."

"I like your hair," the words sprung up quite out of thin air.

"Uh, ohh," she touched her own locks, "Thanks." They were a light brown, a nutty color that had earned her the nickname of 'Nutcase' from her brother.

"Here," he handed her the grey cap that she lost to the wind.

"How did you get this?"

He shrugged, "Found it."

"How did you know it was mine?"

"I saw you in the rain," he looked out the window at the lazy streaks of sunlight.

"Oh, well, thanks." His eyes were shadowed and once again she thought she had stumbled into an awkward moment, "I guess, I'll be leaving now. See you in school, tomorrow."

He clasped her arm in a firm grip and pulled her right into himself.

He whispered, "Don't go." Her eyes widened. "Will you stay a while?" his voice was a hoarse rumor, like sandpaper.

She extracted herself from his grip and turned to face him. She had felt his thundering heartbeat, had been awash in an unusual warmth.

His eyes looked hungry as he gazed at her.

It was then when her own traveled over him did she notice the bruise. "Van, your arm!"

Numbly did he hold it up and dismissed it. It was a purple mark as if a thumb had held it over too long. "What happened?" she badgered him, and held it.

"He was feeling fatherly so he held onto my arm too long," the cynical jerk of his lips did not need any clarification.

Deciding it was time to change the subject she drove into a new topic, "Did you do all your homework?"

He gave her a droll stare. "No, _Mom_."

She rolled her eyes. "We both have the same Math and English classes, right?"

Previously she hadn't paid much attention to him since he sat at the backseat of her math class and she had desperately needed to pay attention in that class to pass. "You're helpless in Math, Kanzaki."

"I know," she admitted.

"The key," he spoke as if he was a philosopher revaling some deep, arcane thought, "is that you shouldn't pay attention to what the witch teaches, but read the book."

"What?" she laughed.

"Yeah," he shrugged, "She doesn't know shit."

She shook her head. "And is that how you have an A in that class?" she had meant to be sarcastic, but instead, he nodded, smiling. "Weeell, the thing about English class, which I've seen you don't excel at—is that you pay attention."

"Pay attention, what's that?" he cocked his head innocently.

She slapped his shoulder, "It's not like math, you idiot. In analyzation, there's no one right answer. You can BS your way around everything if you can back it up by some evidence somehow."

"Ah, the mystery's finally revealed."

"Really, analyzing literature is basically a test on your ability to argue. You dispute well, however farfetched you may be, you'll get the points. Fail to prove your thesis with legitimate evidence, a big fat zero hangs over your head."

He clapped, "You should replace Ms. Echols."

"I refuse to be a teacher," she exclaimed in mock-outrage.

"What do you want to be, by the way?" He didn't realize they were sitting on the floor, legs stretched, relaxing as two good friends would.

"Hmm… maybe a journalist. Lost causes are my forte." She winked. "You?"

He wrapped his arms around his chest, "I'm not sure. Whatever I do, I want to be my own boss."

"Ah, the male ego?" She ran a hand carelessly through her hair, her kind eyes twinkling.

He hadn't noticed how truly green they were. Verdant and delicate like the first leaves of spring. "Alpha through and through."

A giggle erupted from her lips until she was shaking. Understanding dawned on him and he drawled calmly, "I wouldn't have thought your mind assessed so many nuances of a sentence."

She arched a brow, her lips still twitching, "You should've gotten the idea that I'm excellent at detecting all sorts of connotations." She smiled, revealing straight teeth, "And who said being a bit…" her eyes winked mischievously, "_dominant_ was bad?"

His voice was quiet, "Got any legitimate evidence to prove that statement, Kanzaki?"

A crimson blush stole on her face and she frowned, "Well, _no_."

When his lashes lifted to meet her eyes, she realized his eyes were glimmering with humor, "Should I think that you were the dominant one then?" Ooh, she was sure he wasn't talking about being bossy…but activities associated with the bedroom, of which she had no experience, with just a bare amount in kissing.

In half-shock and half-laughter she spoke, "_No_."

He gave a wry laugh, "If you care to find out…" He smiled suggestively, though it was still teasing.

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, then you can remind me that the tiny of bit of intelligence I had has degenerated into shreds."

"Is the prospect _so_ bad?"

She straightened the collar of her shirt pensively, making his eyes drop down to the gently rounded curves of her breast for a terse moment. "I suppose, the topic is still something that comes under 'dangerous.'"

"Topic?" his brows raised, and he looked at her critically.

"Well, _sex_." Goodness, Hitomi Kanzaki, even though a senior could not say _the _word without blushing. As far as Van was concerned, if they broached it, it wouldn't be a topic, but an activity.

"Why?"

"It's not the fact of losing my virginity that scares me." She shrugged, "Trust. Human nature is a bitch and trust is a word that's virtually non-existent in our vocabulary."

"We're like animals," he stretched his arm, and she noticed the rippling strength in them.

"Wrong." She grinned triumphantly, "Animals aren't the evil beings that people use to describe humans. An animal does what it does to survive; it doesn't stomp on someone out of jealousy or careless desire. Look at wolves; if all human males were like them, then we wouldn't have such nasty scandals and divorce rates." Her stated matter-of-factly, but perhaps there was something in her tone that implied her true feeling, "Once they choose their mate, they're forever bound to them. The dark side of human nature, Van, is a beast."

She didn't expect to hear the next words, was even mortified to hear them, "You're a romantic, aren't you?" he said softly.

She met his eyes, "I admire the theoretical aspects, but I don't believe it's applicable in real life, especially the happily-ever-afters."

"Also a pessimist?"

"The glass is always half-empty."

He grinned, "We'll get along just fine."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because you're not my type."

She arched a brow, not knowing if the statement was a compliment or an insult in the way he spoke.

OOO

A decidedly giddy feeling hummed through Hitomi Kanzkai. She had _skipped _up the driveway of her home.

But water was doused into her good mood as the door swung open and Mrs. Kanzaki smiled motherishly, "Hitomi! You didn't tell me you got a _boyfriend_!"

"_What?_" She dropped her book-bag to the floor, a flush permateing through her face.

"I really don't understand why you'd hide something like this," her mother rolled her eyes, "Yukari called me and we had a nice chat."

_I'll wring her bloody neck!_ "And…?"

"Gave me all the vital stats."

She groaned, "Mom, really, ninety nine percent of the stuff she tells you is garbage."

"Who is he?"

However much she found her mother annoying, she still loved her. Hitomi sighed, massaging her scalp, "Honestly, there's nothing between us; and he and I are just friends."

Her mother squeezed her, "Good, I don't really care whether you're friends with this boy or he's your boyfriend, but honey," she frowned, "I'd been so worried about you. You were always talkative and then suddenly…it's like you chose answers with the most minimum words."

"Mom," she felt a stab of guilt, her eyes pleading, and mumbled her words, "I-I'm sorry."

"No, no," she denied, "I don't think I understand the complexities of high school now." Pulling away, she met her daughter's eyes squarely, "But affection still produces the same reaction from everyone at any age. Honey, he has a good influence on you."

Hitomi grinned, "He's quite…_something_."

**A/N: REVIEWWWWWWW!!! Thanks!!! **


	2. II Kiss the Rain

**II. Kiss the Rain**

_Your broken whispers,_

_Love, I wanted to swallow,_

_Snatch away with my lips,_

_Until You remembered_

_How it felt to be _

_Kissed by the rain._

_Two months later: November_

Some would want to say the rest was history.

But it wasn't.

The path they took wasn't predictable; it wasn't this void of faceless happiness that people would generally like to associate. They crashed, they rose, they bled, they laughed.

Rumors flew on the nature of their relationship; Van Fanel, the hot, bad-boy everyone would like to believe, was attached to that plain, normal, Kanzaki girl like a magnet.

But it wasn't until a dilemma arose in their lives did they change truly.

It was the day Hitomi Kanzaki was asked out.

Van, Van, Van—who was he to her?

Ah, the one she could say stupid things to and who _would_ laugh at those comments, which oddly had never been hurtful, who'd prick her, make her mad one moment, the next make her laugh until she was sure her jaw would split, who'd challenge, support her.

But they had never paid attention, never cared to define how they were related.

It just was.

He could fall with her, talk to her in four in the morning, recite bits of poetry that he'd composed as she eased a headache due to an argument with his father, and with her magical fingers she would weave through his locks as he rested his head on her lap.

Amano. The name itself would be enough for Van to grow fangs.

He felt jealousy. Beastly. Protective, possessive, like he'd never felt before. He had never been the one to share.

But there was this anxiousness in her voice as she told him.

She'd accepted, his offer, _Amano's_ offer. He'd closed his eyes, as one would to some external pain.

"Van, are you listening?"

"Yeah, go on," he encouraged.

"I mean," she groped for the right words, "I kind of liked him a few grades ago, and he's good looking and all, _but_," she was vulnerable, he could predict, as that particular catch came into her voice, "I feel like he'd leave me, when he finds out the _real _me, you know?"

"No, I don't," he looked at her with candor, "you've got more personality than all the girls I've known and as for your intelligence, your IQ is superior to Amano's."

She made a face, "And my looks are oh-so-appealing."

"Oh yeah, if they ever have a Hag Contest, I'll nominate you."

She slapped his arm, not enjoying his sarcasm at such a _dire_ moment. It wasn't that Van'd indicated ever that he found her extremely appealing—ah, the occasional jab at her innocence (which was not lack of knowledge, just lack of _firsthand _knowledge), but nothing out of the ordinary. After all, he'd also stated that she wasn't his type. A dampening admission, if truth be told, from such a good-looking person.

He bit out, "Honestly speaking, princess, pretty-boy-Amano doesn't deserve you."

"_Van_—"

He silenced her with a hug. She smelled him, relishing in his fragrance and let her body get accustomed to the planes of his own.

It had seemed for so many years that all she'd been doing was trying to fit here, trying to fit there. She had tried to fit in during the initial years of high school, but she couldn't adapt to the cruelty of people, to the artificial cares of others, to the useless life most lead.

This…this was where she fit.

And yet it was odd; there were moments when they seemed so close, and others where the mere distance of a centimeter was a gaping rift. His behavior was erratic, more especially his physical actions. But he knew her, had watched her for months, afraid to get close to her with her invisible barrier. But now…

He held her for a very long time and if he had been told to remain this way until his jealousy subsided—then he wouldn't have ever let go for all eternities to come.

She stood outside the cinema, rubbing her hands across her arms to bring some warmth. Amano had still not shown up. _Right, counting to ten minutes. Don't show up then, and I'll leave._

She wanted to believe he hadn't stood her up. Desperately, making up reasons for possible interruptions in his plan. He had seemed sweet and had had a bad break up with his girlfriend two weeks ago.

_One and two, and three…_

OOO

"Celena!" Ah, Celena Schezar was the quintessential good-girl, angelic in appearance with gently waving flaxen hair, and whose friendship he had developed during the year in which she'd lost her mother.

"Van!" the pale blond hugged him closely, "Goosh, why haven't I seen you lately?"

"Ohh yeah," he rolled his eyes, "Like Ms. Valedictorian would have time for humble ol' me."

"What are you doing here at the grocery store of all places?"

"Hungry." She laughed at his answer. "I came to grab some chocolate cake."

"Hmm, you all right?" there seemed to be a bit of tension in his face. "Any problems with 'Tomi?"

"I, well, no." He shrugged as they walked to the bakery section. "The problem is me."

"You?"

He admitted reluctantly, "I'm suffering from a severe case of chronic jealousy, to put it as medically as possible." He grinned; Celena was going to take Pre-Med.

"Why?"

"She's going out with Amano," he tried to tone down the bitterness.

"She's going out with him?!"

"Yeah." He muttered darkly, "I swear, if he's touching her at this moment, I'll chop his hands off." He tried to reason why Amano wouldn't have a right to touch her; touch was inevitable. Oh yeah, there was just one reason.

Only Van could touch her…in the way she deserved to be, sweetly, self-lessly, lovingly.

"At this moment?" her eyes turned to saucers.

"Very tempting, but no. I'll have to wait until I spot him touching her—pathetic that we can't kill before proven guil—" he spoke referring to the hand-chopping, but he was interrupted.

"I'm talking about whether they're out this moment, you idiot!" there was panic in her voice.

"Yes," the word came out like the hiss of an angry cobra that'd been reminded of a pain.

"Van," she whirled around, pinning him with her intense cerulean eyes, "Amano is _not_ with Hitomi at this moment."

"What do you mean?" He paled.

"I got a ring from Yukari just an hour ago…he's supposed to come over to her house in the next hour and she was apparently very excited."

"Fuck!" Like a primal storm that changed its course, he turned around and made a dash for the exit.

"Where are you going, Van?!" she yelled out.

"To get her and cut his damn throat!"

A silence stole in the grocery store and Celena ignored them, "Hurry, Van."

OOO

A throb was locked in her throat.

A third of an hour; that had been twenty minutes, or twelve hundred seconds that she'd waited past the time of the show.

He hadn't shown up and she didn't expect him.

There would be no future dates, she was sure, with him. One of Yukari's friends had stalked up to her, showcasing their expensive outfits, to casually mention that Kari had wanted to tell Hitomi to not show up for the movie; she was sure that Amano would break up with her anyway, after spending the afternoon with herself.

And of-course, her friend had forgotten to inform her, till just now while she strutted with her boyfriend.

Perhaps it wouldn't have hurt her as much if she hadn't found out why he didn't appear for the date, but this knowledge, this awareness, allowed a sob to gather.

It seemed like it had rained all this month. It was, again, and she was glad, hoping it would somehow cleanse her. Oh, she should've listened to Van! How could she face him after her battered pride and tell him, admit to him that he had been right all along? She owed him an apology. She had accused him of judging others too heavily by their past actions and Amano's hadn't been very favorable, boasting break-ups at an average of two and a half weeks.

But, this was, by the far the shortest date. _Hah_, she thought sarcastically, _this wasn't even a date_.

She swallowed and when she blinked…only one image appeared.

Raven hair, the slow smile of an angel, the steady, strong enclosing arms holding her firmly in place, soothing her, caressing her.

The glossy hills in her eyes appeared once more and for just that second, she thought that the figure before her was conjured out of her mind, a watery mirage, once touched, that would lose shape.

He was silent, rain drops falling from his hair in shiny, glassy droplets.

They continued walking towards each other and paused as they stood a foot apart.

She touched his jacket and in that brief second when she met his eyes, he grabbed her hand and hauled her into his arms. He was there, he was real, no dream, no illusion once touched that would melt.

There was an eerie silence; no cars could be spotted for miles.

"I'm sorry, Hitomi," he whispered softly.

A half-laugh and half-cry choked her voice, "The apology is misplaced. It's my fault." She wrapped her hands around his waist, absorbing his heat, trying to share the solid, unyielding strength that he emanated.

"I should've stopped you." His eyes darkened, "Better yet, I should've killed Amano."

She chuckled slightly, "Both of those are wrong thoughts."

"Of-course, they are," a tentative smile pulled his lips, "I should kill Amano _now_."

"You will do no such thing."

Oh yes, some distant corner in her mind screamed that she was crazy to be standing here in Van's arms when the world was shadowed in a curtain of gray gloom.

But nothing could be as crazy as this…

…pulling away, he caressed the water out of her face, his eyes so soft, so meaningful that they shone like a dark red-velvet, and his fingertips were like beams of melted, hot malleable gold around her eyebrows, a whisper of a promise across her lips.

All the jaded judgment in his eyes, the cynical curl of his lips—disappeared.

He kissed her.

The world could've crashed, been shredded into tiny atomic particles; the ground could've sunk, the skies could've grazed the seas, the volcanoes could've erupted hot lava…

…but still, she would've never released him.

She was like the a spring flower twisting, aching for the sacred sunlight that so rarely breached the dullness of winter, a fish on land, grasping the bits of oxygen from the puddle.

She ached from his tenderness, his lips so attentively blossoming over hers, so persistent in its courting that she would've stumbled if he hadn't held her molded to his own body with an arm across her back. She tasted like sunshine, sweet and warm; an oasis to a man who'd only lived through frigid winters.

Van Fanel had kissed many girls and many times but nothing ever was like this.

She was selfless in her giving, letting her palms travel across his neck, to his cheekbones, tangling her fingers in his locks, massaging his scalp, making no demands.

And it was that very statement, or lack thereof, that drove him wild. He wanted to make her moan in delight, shriek, touch her where nobody had ever dared, take her to a place so high that he'd never want to come back.

He kissed her jaw, gliding over to her cheek, flicking his tongue at her ear, sending an electric thrill. "I'd wanted to do that ever since I touched you in the closet."

"You said," she hissed with surprise as he pressed a kiss on her neck, "I wasn't your type."

"I was right," he breathed raggedly, "you're not." His lips trailed feathery soft across her neck slowly, leisurely, his touch _venerating_. "That's why I can't damn well get enough of you."

The rain gentled as if sweeping across the world with careful strokes of an artist's brush, a splatter here, and a streak there until the portrait resembled a collage of fallen, liquid stars that kissed mortals.

OOO

_December 24th _

Some part of her pondered that God had been too kind to her. She wasn't used to this kind of happiness, this general joy for being just alive, for being able to see his face, and that certain odd smile and the bewitching image of eyes—a heated volcano—right before he kissed her.

No doubt, if he'd kissed her like that before her original date with Amano, she wouldn't have ever considered going out with the former.

That very kiss, it wasn't a purely physical act. It was his lips that didn't speak, but showed, ever so carefully, until she'd turn into cinders, just what he felt. But…

…a thought still nagged her. There were times when he'd touched her lips with such a violent need that it had shaken her, that he'd fought to control himself. She just wasn't sure how much Van Fanel controlled himself and was oddly curious to what would occur if that control snapped.

Christmas cheer trailed everywhere she went and the radio shelled out the lilting notes of "Silent Night" while her mother hummed and cooked.

Her bags were packed, with changes of clothes for tonight and tomorrow. It had taken a considerable amount of time to convince her mother to spend the Christmas over at Celena's house. She snorted; Mom dearest would probably need an analytical, FBI profile check on Celena before she'd allow her daughter to spend time with her. Apparently, the fact that Celena was the Student Body President and the Valedictorian somehow aided in coating a much deserved shiny, untarnished reputation for her friend.

Her mother pursed her lips as she turned around to watch her daughter, "You know, I still wish you weren't going."

"I _know_," she rolled her eyes and groaned. "But it's only for a couple of days…and Celena and I have so many plans." She begged, "Please, Mom? Smile or I'll stay."

A reluctant smile tilted her lips, "Alright," she hugged her daughter, "give me a call once you get there."

"Yeah, sure." There was a honk and Hitomi squealed, "It's her! I gotta run!"

"Take care."

"'Kay, love you, bye Mom!"

OOO

"How are things with Van?" Celena asked good-naturedly.

"Couldn't have been better," she had a secret smile that Celena could relate to, "You sure you don't mind dropping at Van's for a few minutes?"

"I don't." She laughed, checking her side-view mirrors as she switched into the left lane, "But, if Van found out I denied you a ride to his house, that boy would remember it till his dying day and not forgive me." She looked at her green-eyed friend for a moment, almost seriously, "He's got a nasty habit on holding onto grudges."

"As in how?"

"Well," she bit a smile, her eyes softening ever so slightly as she mentioned her boyfriend's nickname, "Dilan hasn't been forgiven for spiking Van's drink when they were eleven during his mother's Garden Club meeting."

Hitomi laughed, "Well, was it _that _bad?"

"Eh," she winked, "Did I mention the proportion of the alcohol to the drink was three to one?"

"Van didn't do something stupid, did he?"

She snorted, "I think that was my introduction to being exposed to questionable material that my mother had hoped to blind and deafen me from until I was safely married."

"What was it?" she asked incredulously.

"The most disgusting version of 'Mary Had A Little Lamb,' though," she giggled, "out of the poor boy's mouth, it sounded like 'Mary Had A Little Womb.'"

They were still shaking in laughter as they stumbled onto his doorstep. Hitomi dutifully rang the bell and waited for the footsteps. The house was devoid of any decorations; no holiday cheer lingered in its stern, barren beauty.

The humor melted from her lips as she faced the hardened face of Van Fanel. He was cool, and indifferent, no traces of even a slight smile, his face seeming to be pinched. "Oh…hi, Van. Your dad not around? We didn't see his car."

He smiled icily, "My dad works very hard, you should know that by now." He leaned across his door, "He's attending to an urgent case. Won't be back until a couple of days later."

"No way!" Hitomi said in outrage as Van lead them inside.

He shrugged, "It doesn't matter."

"So, you're alone?" Celena asked with worried curiosity.

"Quit looking at me as if I'm an alien!" He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants, "This isn't the first time I'm spending it alone."

"It's not 'it'! This is Christmas! I'm not going to leave you by yourself," Hitomi said defiantly. She wrapped her hands around her chest, "It's just not right."

"Hitomi could always stay," the words came slowly, reflectively from Celena's lips.

"Absolutely not!" Van dismissed the idea immediately. Did Celena know the danger—two days and one night with Hitomi. It was unthinkable!

_Very much thinkable, _his sarcastic mind said gleefully. Hitomi raised her voice innocently daring Van to object, "I think I will."

He apparently did.

The girl had surely lost her mind, Van was certain. "You're crazy!"

"Oh come on, guys! Dilly and I've spent days together!" Celena cut the tension as the couple frowned at each other.

"Uh-huh," he rolled his eyes, "school trips don't count. I mean," he made a helpless gesture, "You had different bedrooms!"

Her lips parted and she said sassily, "And who said Hitomi would share your bedroom?"

In all this, a laugh was building in Hitomi's throat. "_Van_," she chided, "you worry too much."

"Hmm, so is it clear?" Celena asked alertly.

"Yes, but we have think of how to manage your parents and mine."

Van looked at the two scheming girls and this desire to bang his head on the wall came so fiercely that he reminisced the days of kindergarten where boys would hit their heads to have their own way.

"Well, we can always try something a bit…_daring_," Celena winked wickedly.

"What?"

"You call your mom, tell her you're at my place—and I'll tell my dad you came with the flu?"

"Perfect, Celena! Just brilliant!" Van mouthed darkly. "And what will you say when they meet each other sometime…and eh, Hitomi's mom thanks him for accommodating her into your home?"

"Well," Celena chewed on her lips, "There's not a great probability of that." Looking at Van, she knew he was adamant and didn't believe her.

"You could always tell the truth," Hitomi added with an edge of nervousness.

There was a silence. Ahh, the dangers of silence Van knew about…it was in silence that your world changed; silence was the trumpet of Fate that humans had become deaf to.

Celena breathed deeply, "So, I got it. 'Tomi, you tell your mom you're staying at my place and you've reached etc. My dad's pretty cool about all this: I'll tell him you're at Van's keeping him company for Christmas and not to tell your mom that you weren't with us…with a guarantee," she glared at Van, "that nothing horrible happens to Hitomi."

Van scowled, growling with outrage, and yet with—offense, perhaps? "I would never hurt her!"

"I never said you would," Celena rolled her eyes and gave Hitomi a sideways stare, "That's why my brother Allen never feels guilty he's not there. There's always Van for a good equivalent of a sibling fight."

"So it's settled?" Hitomi arched a brow at the dark haired figure. Not waiting for an answer, Hitomi gave Celena a hug, "Thanks a lot, I can never make it up to you. And loads of thanks to your dad too!"

"Yeah, no problem girl," Celena grinned, "Though I'm sure my poor dad will need some bribery before he can smile about this subject. Hmm, a certain enticement pertaining to cooking should seal the deal."

They laughed and soon, Celena grabbed her jacket and headed outside.

Hitomi went as well, and grabbed her bag as she waved at Celena.

"Come on, Van," Hitomi called cheerfully, "We've got to make this place look alive!"

"What?"

"We're going to decorate!"

OOO

If he saw another piece of red and green construction paper, he would very seriously—kill himself.

The change was dramatic, outstanding, and more of a workout than he'd ever get at a gym. A decorated tree graced the living room where the fire crackled and cheered cozily. He'd spent a good hour cutting the eight-foot thing from his backyard and dragging it into the room. They'd spent the whole day in the house, cleaning (he gagged), rummaging through the attic for lights and the rest—making paper decorations. There was a wreath on the front door, lights circling the tall columns outside, and inside—the place was lit, ready for a ball.

But evening had fell, and finally the vision in their head had also fallen into place. She had appeared downstairs, wearing white flannel PJs, looking like a contented kitten, with a vague smile on her face. His eyebrows flew in a teasing smile. "Virginal Mary, aren't you?"

She threw a couch cushion at him but he ducked. "Yes, you look like St. Nick yourself."

Going somewhere in the kitchen with a laugh, he brought back two mugs of hot chocolate and handed her one.

"Mmm, nice," Hitomi sipped gratefully and rested on the couch beside the fireplace.

He sat beside her, his look reflective and she silently admired his profile, the features that had a certain air she could never quite explain the quality of. "I sometimes wonder…where do you think we'll be next year now?"

"Together," Hitomi said decidedly. "Just because we're going to different colleges doesn't mean we can't meet for Christmas."

He looked at her without saying a word and as she leaned into him, he tucked his head over hers and gently patted her. "Hitomi?"

"Yes?"

The moment she looked up facing him, he bent down doing what he'd wanted to all day, every moment. He caught her lips with his own. Groaning, his hand stroked her neck, another massaged her hair.

She met his passion with her wandering hands meandering over his chest, his back. She gasped in shock yet hissing with pleasure.

His palms had cradled her breast, a thumb running over the soft fabric of her shirt. "_Van_." She heaved, her eyes a melting emerald that stared into his abysmal pools.

"I-I'm sorry," he spoke hoarsely. "I told Celena…"

She stopped the words in her throat. "What?"

He stood up, anger shaking his form, "I'm sorry Hitomi. I shouldn't have don—"

"Wait!" she grasped his arm and halted him. Her eyes captivated him, holding him, and slowly, she whispered, a breath of warm, humid air, "Tell me."

"Tell you what?" He backed away from her. "That every goddamn time I'm near you, I want to kiss you, touch you, be _inside_ you? It's like I don't have control over myself anymore!"

Her face was very still, her voice was a caress like the wind brushing over a field of heather, "Have you ever been inside anyone, Van?"

"No."

She was shocked; there was no denying it. This cool, you-mess-with-me-I'll-kick-your-ass type of guy was a…virgin? But the truth was in his voice, the heated manner in which he gazed at her, in his inability to lie to her eyes.

"Van?" her voice was soft, weaved into a spell of this delicious world where only the two existed.

He forced himself to look at her, the light shining directly down, making her look startlingly like the damning angel that he'd always thought of her as.

"I trust you. Only you." A smile flirted on her lips, her eyes glittering. She took hold of the criminal hand that had so intimately touched her, tanned, and long-fingered, brushed a kiss upon its knuckles, and held it to the breast he'd so yearningly touched. "I'm yours."

"What're you saying?" he shook.

She smiled, "That I want to give you a gift—and get one in return."

He swore so swiftly and grabbed her so roughly that her breath had been squeezed out of her for a second. "What the hell are you doing, you little fool," the words were tortured; yet sweetly endearing.

"I'm offering you my virginity."

"You told me to remind you that your mind has probably degenerated for you to be making such a crazy proposal!"

She laughed, sighing in content, "My mind has never been sharper, Van Fanel!"

"Sure," he drawled in a voice that was achingly sarcastic, "and label me as the bad wolf the next morning."

She frowned and pulled away from him, "I swear, Fanel, I don't think you want me,"

At that, he laughed so sharply and his lips descended on hers fiercely, "Want you? I _never _wanted you," her eyes widened, "I _need _you." She gasped.

Slowly, he eased the coils of her braids until her hair flowed down to her back, his lips lingering on her neck, his fingers working on the front buttons, brushing, scalding, delicate skin…

OOO

_January 1st _

A sobbing voice, barely decipherable asked through the receiver, "Van?"

"Lia?" he jumped off of his bed, his body straightening, "What's wrong?" Damn his weakness, damn him for caring!

"V-Van, I can't take it anymore, I just can't!" Her voice was muffled, and he could imagine her: tall brunette, skinny as a rail, with dark eyes that seemed to be suffering all the time.

"Hold on, hold on! Don't you dare do anything drastic!" he stumbled in his room, reaching for the switch to turn on the light.

She gulped, "I miss you. You always made it," she sniffed, "somehow better."

He closed his eyes tightly and said through grit teeth, "Look Lia, I care for you as a friend—see, I'm finally happy with what I have—and you don't need me, you need help." Damn, he sounded so unsure even to himself.

"Damn you! Just say it to my face that you don't care!"

"Fuck this, Lia! How does it make it any better when you go slashing your wrists? Damnit, you're hurting yourself!"

Her voice was sing-song, a desperate croon, "I _need _you, Van. Make me stop, Van. Please, make me stop this!"

"What do you want from me?" he asked raggedly. "What can I do to make it better?"

"I promise I'll stop! Just come back. " Her voice was a desperate plea of a person on the brink of death voicing its last wish, "Come back to me, Van."

"Lia, where are you?"

"So much blood, Van…too much blood."

She had hung up.

"Shit!" the curse exploded on his lips when he realized what had happened.

OOO

_January 6th_

"You all right?" he asked gently, yet he seemed strained, a mere line for a smile. She had been taken into the hospital for 24 hour observation after he'd hurriedly banged on her door and alerted her mother to find Lia on the bed with blood surrounding her.

"Yeah," she leaned into an embrace. "I've missed you so much, Van." He tensed, holding her carefully, and yet with this closeness only grew this detachment, this quarantined feeling that kept spreading. She pouted prettily, "Won't you kiss me?"

He hesitated for a moment, watching her delicate face, the dark eyes that looked ravenous for affection. He brushed his lips over her forehead. "Take care, Lia."

Vaguely, he heard her adieu.

She still hadn't returned. Hitomi.

Her family had whisked her away to a myriad of aunt and uncle's places and she had barely contacted him.

She was to attend school any day, any moment.

A fire blazed through him, missing her laughter, her sight, her smell, her warmth…her skin. A sudden shiver ran through him, and as he turned around…

There she was.

Her mouth was slightly agape as when one tried to form words that were silent, her eyes huge, unblinking. He realized that he was alone and Lia had left for her class.

The warning bell rung.

A wind howled, abrasive in its force, making the naked trees shudder.

He walked towards her, a hand in his pocket, his deep eyes set only on her.

"Hitomi."

"Van," her lips quivered.

"I—"

"No! _Don't_!" She silenced him with her fingertips on his lips, then hastily recovered them, as if being burned, "You," her eyes shone so brilliantly like green fire that they could've been blinding, "you could've waited to tell me! You could've waited for a few days, Van!" Her eyes, they weren't accusing, they weren't even pleading…they were disappointed, the anger that came from hurt.

"What you heard was wrong!" He already knew of the rumors.

Her eyes challenged, "So, you're not dating her?"

"I, yes, I am—but it's different." The doctors had suggested that his positive influence on Lia was good, and perhaps with a good amount of time, she would release the depression and eventually give up cutting herself.

Her chest heaved, and he remembered her, the skin he had caressed, "Is it any different when you kiss her, make her laugh, walk her to class—touch her—from me? Maybe I wasn't good enough." Her voice was rife with pain, "I-I," she shook as if she were a fragile branch trying to fight away the ripping wind, "I thought you were someone else, Van." The look that she gave him was piercing, poignant with its sting. It had taken all the control she had possessed to not let a tear slip from her eyes as Milan revealed the gruesome details of Van kissing and making out with Lia, and the fact that Van had charged into a girl's bathroom—bold as you please—scaring away the other girl that had been in there—who swore he grabbed Lia into his arms, and nothing more had to be said to be assumed.

It was as if he had frozen to the spot, rooted. He was exhausted, and the moment seemed too surreal to be true, like a vague nightmare whose darkness would be extinguished once he awoke into the light—a nightmare he had no control over.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice coming out like a croak.

There was a saccharine smile on her face. He wanted to press a kiss onto so hard until she broke into a genuine one. "Everyone's decided to nominate you as the Prince Charming for superlatives." Her smile wobbled, and the next statement cut deep into him like a wound, "I was never a princess, yours or anyone's," she blinked away her tears rapidly and how he desired to steal her into his embrace and brush them away with kisses. She slumped as if tired, "Thank-you for being a friend." He was dumbstruck, couldn't say a word. Her voice was a hoarse whisper, "And don't worry," she met his eyes one last time—which he didn't realize at the time—and spoke brokenly as one would on the verge of tears, "I'm not pregnant."

Turning on her heels, she ran. And what could he do? Tell her he'd never cared for anyone so, that even if he dated Lia, it was she he thought of, that it was she who haunted him? She'd despise him, fight him away, his no-nonsense Hitomi would never believe such thoughts; she was too jaded to see the truth that came with a sparkle. Her kind of truth was dark; she would never believe him.

But he would _always_ remember her; the small frame, the soft body, the cynicism, the self-depreciative humor, the kindness…

Soft, white dots besieged the air, waltzing in the wind; snow fell with passion to eventually cover the land in a virginal state of purity. Yet the lone figure of the boy-man stood there for a very long time in defiance to the light before him.

The tardy bell was shrill in its cry.

It was too late.

**_A/N: Another promised update._**

**_All of you are obligated to pray/wish me luck for my midterms. :P I hope to make all As this year…and it's been going pretty well; last marking period: straight As in four AP classes. It's sort of a challenge for me, to do well in school and write. If I can't do great then I quit writing for a while…and (wink) you probably don't want that._**

**_CONTINUE ONLY IF YOU WANT TO READ A RANT!_**

**_Ugh, I've gone into the full-blown teenage mood; arguments with mom. Is it the curse of approaching sixteen? --;; We had a huge argument couple of days ago, afterward I apologized to her, promised her that I'd do everything to make her happy, anything she wanted. But the problem is me, not her. I'm going through a" detoxification" process, eliminating all the negative thoughts, the dirt out of my soul. Hah!, my mother says she misses my sweetness; right, when I was sweet (ages ago), people would stomp all over me and I had that damningly bubbly nature that would forgive and forget. But is my mother aware of that? No, of-course not. As far she knew, her daughter was self-assured, confident, angelic, could face anything. I'm the ungrateful sort (seriously, all the latent, physical, family flaws/mutations are concentrated and apparent in me), too pessimistic most times when it concerns myself, insecure—quite different from what she thought I was…but now it's dripping into my conversations with her, becoming more and more transparent._**

**_I don't know; you know it's scary, you think you know yourself and then one day you wake up to a totally different person who's a stranger? That's what happened. I used to shrug, laugh away the criticism and all along my mother thought I was never hurt, was always unfazed, so she'd never have to protect me, never re-assure me that I was alright, I was okay. I was sensitive, always; the sort to get hurt by the most inconsequential things, like the fact that not a single picture of mine sits on my mother's dresser, except one of my three older brothers in her arms—which I don't blame 'coz I wasn't born then. But all of this, it was building, slowly growing within me and I morphed into someone I'd only dreaded of becoming and I started despising myself._**

**_Become understanding, people think it's okay to hurt you, become realistic, and people stay away from you. These days have been broody, just a critical, analysis of my life; and one realization that my brother was so kind to point out has left me staggering._**

**_Gosh, I have to pull myself together…_**

**_On another note, as for my innocence, Spirit0; you judge it. I've never had anyone kiss my lips not even on my cheeks, I've never been to a teenagerish party, never gotten drunk (or will), never even seen anyone drunk in real life. I don't even let un-related guys hug me! My brothers don't date, won't ever date; same here. All my "experience" or rather, theoretical knowledge, is derived from romance novels, from conversations with friends who have been kissed and some not, from my imagination…and of-course, from other peoples and my dreams._**

**_Horribly sorry for the rant…but I had to let it out. Damn, I'm weak. --;;_**

**_…review?_**

**_Please?_**


	3. III Till We Meet Again

**III. Till We Meet Again **

_Like the way a _

_Jungle of smells_

_After a wild rain are_

_Inseperable,_

_Ineveitable._

_10 years later_

"Rise and shine, doll, the world's yours to conquer!" the woman's wavy blond hair glistened glossily, her violet eyes shimmering as she grinned at her editor who had fallen asleep again on the leather sofa, her legs sprawled all over. Her eyes wandered over the floor with a slight flinch; a maze of papers tiled the floor.

The tenth time in the past month.

"_Millerna_," she groaned. Blurred images melted together to form a palette of colors—until a few moments later, they sharpened into objects and her vision cleared. "I swear, I might tell Jeff to fire you," she joked.

"Aha," Millerna pouted, "and who'll poke you to wake up in his meetings?"

"Good point." Hitomi Kanzaki, age twenty-seven, wiped away the last remains of her sleep with a good routine of eye-rubbing. "Wha—what time is it?"

"Hmm," Milly looked her watch, "quarter after six."

"Oh shit," she stumbled up, her hair a hairdresser's nightmare with tangles and knots. "Look, Milly," she shrugged on a cream, dressy, coat, "I'll go make myself presentable—will be back in about forty or so minutes."

"Yup, no problem," she grinned. "Don't worry, nobody'll know about the new security woman who sleeps here," she winked.

"They better not," she mumbled, as she exited through the door with a bang.

A gentle smile still curved Millerna's lips as she stared at the picture in her portfolio, "Perfect," she murmured. "He's perfect."

OOO

"Remi's doing coverage for that sex scandal," Millerna bit her lip, as she sorted through out her papers.

"Elyssa? What's she doing?"

"Ahh, Elyssa's working on the fashion column for autumn; Jane's doing the little spin on diabetes." Thus begun Hitomi Kanzaki's day of work as an editor for one of the most prestigious women's magazine, _Glow. _

"Alright," she irritably took out the pencil she'd placed behind her ears, "tell 'Lyssa we have a meeting scheduled tommorow at ten, sharp." Her eyes wandered over the desk of papers she still had to sort out. But, instead, she looked up to see Millerna gazing in anticipation at her. "Yes?"

She grinned, "We have a little assignment."

"Assignment? For whom? We can put it for the next issue."

"No no, this one's from Jeff."

Ahh, she'd better pay attention to this one. "What is it?"

"The Dare."

"_What?_" she sputtered, choking on her coffee. Her hands turning into fists, she bit her lips, "Now?"

"Yes," the violent eyed woman grinned cheekily.

Ahh, the dreaded Dare. Jeffery Bowman had prided in competent editors for his magazine, in their creative minds, intellect, and of-course—stealth. But, unfortunately, many came lacking in the last department and with each new editor, an almost impossible assignment was given to them to complete, usually interviews from extremely reluctant individuals. But that, that was what kept people hooked onto _Glow _magazine, their attraction lay in digging the skeletons of people's pasts.

"What is it?" she sat on her desk.

"Interview the person, write an article."

She scowled, "Oh yes, A for your articulation, Milly."

Shooting her a sly grin, "Check it out for yourself," with that, she slid the folder she had been carrying onto her desk. Smiling widely, she left the office.

Hitomi stared at the folder, the olive colored rectangular piece that looked forlorn on her pile. Slowly, she brought it close to her, gently turned it's flap to face a photograph.

She paled, not realizing, she'd gasped.

Tawny hair, the hues of the night sky, over an angular, chiseled face, finished with a polish of tan skin. His eyes were what drew her, hypnotized her—once again; they were fierce, magnetic, the photographer catching the subtle shade of maroon which in chemical terms would be classified as a methyl red. There was something that bordered on barbaric on his face, primitive in the sense that he perceived _everything_ with his eyes, the contrast highlighted by the dark, professional suit he wore that only made him seem like a sleek panther pretending to be tame.

He could be no other.

Van Fanel.

Her mind reeled, feeling as if she was once again an immature girl of seventeen, her eyes, a well of childish fantasies and dreams.

But this Hitomi Kanzaki was twenty-seven, _not_ seventeen, and most importantly, she was no longer an insignificant individual, but one that men sought for her wit, a certain attraction that they could never pin. She was not beautiful in that modelesque sense, not even in that pure, wholesome look; no, there was a quality of realism about her, this state of connection she developed with people, while others like her seemed distant and detached.

Maybe that was her secret.

She delved into them, their minds, their secret dreams and desires, with a face that that had seen it all; seen those very beautiful dreams being made, being broken and crushed, and yet, all of this added character, added steel and determination.

Her eyes lowered into the type-written profile, and she read of the changes that had befallen her once-love. Only once, had she ever felt that way, given herself away like that, to anyone, ever _loved_ anyone so. Later times, it was always different; perhaps, they were right, there was something special about first loves.

_Name: Van Slanzar de Fanel_ _Occupation: Buys and sells companies_ _Affluence: Multi-millionaire; nobody really knows how much he has for sure_ _Stats: 6ft 2.5 inches; dating_

_Age: 27_

_Voted as People Magazine's _Fifty Most Beautiful People_ in 2004. He's notorious for being ruthless in his buying and selling; doesn't take pity, but, nobody blames him for being unfair, unjust in his approach. Not quite a ladies-man, he certainly attracts enough to have each hour of his calendar filled, but rejects them. Very particular with them; relationships don't last long with females. Possibly hiding secrets of his past. Nobody knows much of it. Has wealth, but prefers to live in a quarter million dollar home rather than the twenty-five million dollar castle/manor. _   
_Your assignment: Dig into him. Find out about his personal life; sex life, his relationship problems, the balance in his bank account(s), and all you can about his past. Currently dating a mysterious, woman whose name hasn't been revealed, who hasn't been spotted with him either. Get her name and stats. If successful, cover page for the February Valentine issue._

_Time allotted for assignment: 1 month_

She looked at the paper still dazed and read it for another time.

_Ohh shit, you're a dead woman, Hitomi. _There was absolutely _no_ way she could do this! No way—!

As if her silent thoughts had been broadcasted on a loud speaker, a phone rang. Hastily, she made a grab for it, "Hitomi Kanzaki, yes?"

"Ahh, Hitomi!" the light voice said with enthusiasm, "I trust you got the folder?" Uh oh, this was Jeff.

She laughed nervously, "Yes, received it, read it."

"Excellent! Get to work ASAP! Hitomi, if you could get this, it'll be our big break! Do you realize the enormous appeal? This guy has practically denied all information to the press; avoids them like crazy! They had to bribe the doctor to get his damn physical stats—who, of-course—got his pants sued off once Fanel found out!"

A genuine laugh escaped her lips, "I'm not surprised."

"What did you say?"

Her tone became more serious, "Jeff, see, I can't do this. I mean, _not_ him. " She paused for a moment, "I once knew him, and things weren't…pretty."

He gasped, "Do you realize how perfect this offer is! You'll be famous for breaking into his fortress!"

"Jeff…" she groaned.

"Look, Hitomi," his voice became crisp in its professional note, "You have to do this; you're a damn good editor and even a better writer, and I hate to lose you. What makes you different from everyone other writer I've known? You don't just write for the money, you take it personally, you retrieve things that nobody does, the insignificant aspects that light all the major ones." Ohh, he didn't just _how _personal this assignment was, "I _know_ you can do this. Use your personal advantage; captivate him, go get a new wardrobe—anything. Got that, 'Tomi?"

"Yeah," she sighed, and waited for another perky speech from her boss.

But with a click, he hung up, leaving Hitomi penseive and frowning.

_Alright, Mr. Fanel, prepare for a blast from the past._

OOO

"Trash," his voice swiftly commanded his secretary.

The secretary whimpered, "But it's an invitee from _Nicole Kidman_!"

A sardonic dark brow rose, "There's something alarming about a woman whom I have never met, who publicly announces to billions of people she wouldn't mind _licking_ me."

The secretary, a brown-haired young man of twenty-five named, Michael Reynolds, clutched the envelope to his chest. There was no question; Reynolds wouldn't mind any part of his body being licked by the woman.

"Reynolds, I'll throw you out if you keep drooling over mails that need to be trashed!" his off-handed voice sounded harsh, with an edge of irritation. No, Van Fanel could never fire him; Reynolds had been there from the beginning, helped him when his business was a fledgling. He softened his tone as he saw the stubborn stance of his friend, "Fine, you can go representing me. Tell her I couldn't attend."

He made an elaborate display of kissing the envelope, "Ahh, the generosity shines in you, boss!"

"Shut up." He didn't like being called generous, no saintly descriptions for such a dark man. He'd sinned enough in his years.

Reynolds' voice quieted, not because of the command—no the man was too infuriating to take anything his boss said seriously, "Fanel, there's a note that says your dad's coming to see you tomorrow."

He stilled for a minute second, "I don't want to see him."

Wisely, he the blue-eyed man put the note away and preceded to shred papers systematically.

Gazing over the horizon, Van Fanel observed the sun retiring for the night and vaguely, he wondered where his own home was, where he could head at night.

OOO

Glancing at the mirror nervously for the fourth time, Hitomi Kanzaki adjusted her hair, placing a stubborn golden-brown strand behind her ear that had come free of her chignon.

Smiling at the front office clerk, she nodded, "I have an appointment with Mr. Fanel for today."

"What time did he assign you, miss?"

"Around now," she lied smoothly.

"Alright," clicking at the keyboard, she checked her database and Hitomi chewed on her lips, waiting for the rejection— "Ah, yes, he does have a visitor appointed at this time," she frowned, "but no name."

Which never would come.

Unbeknownst when she made her silent thanks, she was making it to Reynolds who'd allotted this time for Van's father—of-course, telling him only this morning. Van had defiantly told him to label it as a "visitor" instead of his proper name; he wanted nothing to do with Gaou.

Pressing a button, Hitomi noticed with a cynical ear that the woman's voice became a soft, husky like honey, "Yes, Mr. Fanel, your visitor's here…" she paused for a moment, "Yes, right away."

Glancing up at her, the woman looked at her scrutinously, "He's calling you up."

"Up? Which floor?"

"Forthieth floor, and the door to the right."

"Thank-you."

The blonde woman didn't even glance at her, but hastily picked up the phone. "Yeah, Marlee, I _knoow_, Mr. Fanel, I swear, his voice became seductive…" the woman squealed, "I just talked to him a few moments ago..."

Rolling her eyes, Hitomi tried to fortify herself for the encounter. Dressed in a silvery-gray business suit, and a dressy white shirt, she looked professional, her composed face possessing a sort of dignity.

Entering the deserted elevator, she scanned the numbers and punch the number _40 _with her index finger. As the door to the elevator closed, she sent a quick prayer heavenward and steadied her nerves.

She felt like a youngster out to apply for a job, a virgin with jumbled anxiety—when in reality, being neither of those.

OOO

"Reynolds," he shrugged into his coat, running a careless hand through his hair, "I could murder you." Van Fanel shot him a penertrating, hard stare.

"Excellent; you're yourself," he smiled dismissively, arranging papers, "I'd hospitalize you if you mumbled any loving words."

"Yes, and if this doesn't go well, I'll clip your tongue."

"Ouch," he said dramatically, "don't get too graphic on m—" He stopped short, when knocks, hard and confident, sounded on the door. "Good luck, buddy."

"Get the door," Van said quietly, seating himself into a chair.

Hastily straightening his tie, Michael headed towards the door, but right when he had gone to turn the knob, the visitor took the liberty to do it by themselves.

Both gaped.

A chignon wrapped her wheaten locks (which he'd itched later to let unfurl, loosen), her eyebrows graceful in an arch, her eyes still vibrantly green, lined lightly by brown (that he wanted to wipe away with his thumb, trail across other places…), and her lips were coral, devoid of any gloss or make-up. A slight color decorated her cheeks, too naturally placed to be the product of an artificial blush.

Her body—

"Last time, I checked, you didn't scrutinize people like in a horse sale, but businesses," her voice was musical, warm like the sunlight that danced outside on trees. And he remembered a time when words from her mouth had danced on his very own skin.

Hitomi Kanzaki.

He felt that he had slipped into a dream, a lazy fantasy that he wanted to not get up from. He blinked, once, twice, thrice, then it hit him. He despised that slight smile on her face, the candor in her eyes. Damn her! How could she still be smiling? How could she go on? How could she be so remote…so detached? So cool, so…heavenly.

And he felt like a sinner too jaded to touch the doors of paradise.

But, this was no dream. And it was no illusion either that Michael looked at her like a man besotted, awed.

His voice was so cold that it would elicit shivers in tropical weather, "What. Are. You. Doing. Here?"

She blinked as if maybe surprised, "I need to talk to you." Perhaps, in her heart of hearts, she'd hoped, just wished, with this slight thought that maybe he'd welcome her back, be shaken by her as she'd been by his sight. The pictures—they didn't do justice to him. In life…he was quite, quite something else—and she didn't realize that it exactly mirrored her initial thoughts of him ten years ago.

"Who let you in here?" he asked arrogantly. Michael had dropped into the background.

Anger curled her lips, "Your front desk clerk who's half in love with you. Isn't everyone just dying for some attention from you?" This was no longer the sweet Van who in his roughness was tender; this was no longer, importantly, _her_ Van.

"Stop," his face was pinched. "What do you want to talk about? I have a meeting to attend in a few minutes." He lied. He had to attend a meeting four hours later.

"Well," she gave a dry chuckle, "I'm afraid, ten years won't be summed in a few minutes." _You're right, _his mind voiced, _it will need very many days, very many nights and very many ways in which to have you, to make up for the ten years._ He discreetly observed the changes the years had wrought on her; she was curvaceous, not fashionably skin and bones—but possessing a certain grace that followed her as if she was comfortable with herself.

"You're right, Miss. Kanzaki," he paused for a moment and raised a brow, "it _is_ Miss, is it not?"

"Yes," she hissed, somehow peeved.

"Ah, well, you can meet me for dinner tonight." He said so dismissively, so coolly that she had a sudden, sudden urge…to slap him.

"Maybe, I can't," she bit off, too late to realize that this wasn't a date that he'd asked out of his own want, but out of hers. She needed this.

"Well, I'm afraid, it isn't your choice, Ms. Kanzaki. You do want your interview, don't you?"

"How did you know it was an interview?"

A familiar cynical twist of his lips and he smiled, "Hitomi Kanzkai; age twenty seven, editor of _Glow _magazine, wears a petite eight, shops at--."

She fought the blush, realizing that another man was present in the room; for God's sake, the man had said her size out loud! "Shut up."

"What did you say?"

"I said, shut up, Mr. Fanel."

"I see you haven't changed," he leaned back into his chair, her defiant speech, somehow warming him in the oddest manner, "still that scissor-like tongue."

She snorted inwardly, "And you haven't either—where it counted most."

He was quiet for a moment, the only sound being her ragged breaths, "I'll pick you up at seven thirty, tonight."

She smiled dryly, "I am to suppose you know my address?"

"Yes," a shadow of a smile curved on his lips. "I do know."

Still standing, she turned on her heel and nodded to Michael. Extending her hand, she grinned, "Pleasure to meet you."

A slow grin crossed Reynolds' face, his eyes shining like twin sapphires, "The pleasure, I assure you, is _entirely_ mine."

She smiled widely and left the room with a soft click.

"Michael?" the voice was rough.

"Yes, boss?" he was still smiling, a vague sort of expression only later to realize that his boss had addressed him by his first name.

"The next time you hold her hand will be your last time."

He chuckled ironically, "Yeah, boss, your threats are growing old on me."

"I swear—"

"The tenth time you've sworn in the day," he pointed out.

"This time I'm bloody serious, damn you!" His fists shook, and only later did he notice that his palms had fisted in the first place.

The blue-eyed man's voice was grim as he spoke, and this time it was in the manner of a close friend. "Look Van, I don't have a clue what the hell is your problem. I'm interested in her, you're not and you made it apparent." He bit sarcastically, "And if you think you're a hot-shot, well, I'm considerably wealthy, with more-than-decent looks, and an adequate intellect. Everything a woman wants. This is where we differ: you, Van Fanel, crushed her with your foot, you were consistently rude." Van winced at the words, somehow jarring him. Hell, the day Michael's words affected him would be the day he'd start writing poetry again—which would be today, as it had done just that. "And she, my God, she's got guts to come to you without an appointment." Michael smiled wickedly, "Maybe that's why I like her so much; she whipped you good, man."

"She did not!" he exclaimed in outrage.

"Who is she?"

He had a mad desire to break something, just something! Hmm…maybe Michael's neck… "She was my girl-friend ten years ago." The admission was slow, as if he'd just come to realize it himself.

The blue-eyed man's mouth formed an 'O.' "Old flame. I didn't know you were the jealous type."

"Just stay away from her, Michael, or I promise you," he looked at him in an oddly fierce way, "I _will_ fire you."

He arched a brow, "'Kay, got it, boss. She's hands-off to me."

"Yes," he calmed, "_exactly_. _Eyes-off, hands-off, thoughts-off, and dreams-off_ to you."

"But," he smiled, alarmed at the back of his mind that a man could be so—protective, "if she seeks me, you can't stop it."

He scowled, "If she seeks you I'll be damned."

He shook his head, "You know, I don't understand you. You'd kill me if I even _imagined _her with me, let alone touch her, and yet—" his blue eyes locked onto the figure, "you shun her as if she's some sort of rag that you find distasteful. What the hell happened to you two?"

"None of your business."

"Well, that went well." He massaged his neck, as if physically tired from the conversation.

"By the way, Reynolds?"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell happened to my dad?"

Frowning, he mused, "I haven't a bloody idea."

OOO

"Mill, what do you think of this?" she brandished a chic black dress that reached her calves.

"Hmm," Millerna Aston, more than a co-worker, was Hitomi Kanzaki's best friend. "Not this one; too plain," watching Hitomi's face fall. It was six o'clock and they'd gone through a dozen dresses at least. She sighed; she felt like she was going to the prom. "Hey, 'Tomi," her eyes snapped back to her friend who was rummaging through her closet, "What about this one?"

It was yet another black dress, with straps that circled her neck, form-hugging with a gauzy fabric over the tulle, hitting in triangular pieces at her calves. "It's perfect. Not casual, yet not too dressy." She gave a huge smile at her friend, though shuddered as she thought of a pair of sandalwood eyes, the way they had roamed over her, like some sort of deprived animal.

Some part of her didn't even understand why she wanted to look beautiful for him, why she had wanted a warm welcome, see if he had missed her like in the romantic movies where the hero pined for the woman who were destined to be, but separated by circumstances.

Right, except the circumstances weren't parents and or not realizing how much they loved each other at the time—in her case, it pertained to _his_ sexual acitivities, and _Hitomi's_ overwhelming attraction for him—which was not reciprocal.

Hitomi pursed her lips; she'd skip the elaborate make-up routine today.

She held the dress to herself, remembering that the last time she had worn it (aeons ago…) it had clung to her curves so that even Jeff, who was blind to womanly wiles, had commented on it. Oh well, she would still go with it. Better if he would be distracted by her body; maybe, then it would be easier to let slip something he'd want to hide.

OOO

Cinderella's magical moment had approached; it was seven. A lone, shiny black limousine slithered up the driveway to her apartment and Hitomi watched with fascination, its glossy color mesmerizing.

Certainly, even though she was aware of Van Fanel's wealth, she did not think it would pause for her.

It did.

The door opened, her arms slackened, her eyes blinking like mini-fans, and out came Van Fanel.

No man, no human, deserved to look _so_ good! It was a little disconcerting that a man such as him could get such romantic eyelashes without applying mascara, a honey-toned skin without sitting in a tanning booth, a muscled lean form with a desk job. His eyebrows were dark, his lips chiseled, carved and smooth.

A small smile leaned to the side of his lips, and he spoke, startling her out of her moment of fascination. "You look good enough to eat." He dripped of casual elegance, of posh aristocracy, in an Armani suit and a crisp white shirt. But this Hitomi Kanzaki was not naïve; she'd caught the double meanings…even though she was sure, sure as the sliver of moon that hung in the sky, that he didn't want her.

Want her forever, and beyond, that is.

Ahh, that was the complicating thing about men; they said one thing, but they could mean another. Men were fatal to sentimental women who read the slightest gestures of a man as the dawn of a new romance supplied with a happily-ever-after and a love-conquers-all.

But she was over that; she was definite love, the love-you-till-death-do-us-part did not exist, for her at least. Her fingers coiled; love was loyal, in all the senses. And if her theories couldn't be proven, then she'd rather not marry at all.

She shot him an icy smile, "You don't look like chopped liver yourself."

"Shall we leave?" he opened the door for her.

She nodded, stepping into the limo gingerly and sinking into the leather seats. He sat beside her, and grabbing the phone at the side, "Al, let's go."

"Where are we going?" she asked curiously.

"_The_ _Abaharaki_." He said crisply, inhaling deeply. The _Abaharaki _was a five star hotel, whose one meal could cost how much she earned in three months at her high-salary job.

"Phew," she looked at the winking, city lights (that somehow seemed particularly beautiful at the moment—but maybe she wouldn't have noticed their beauty if she wasn't avoiding looking at the man sitting beside her), "You like to play it grand, don't you? Do you do that with all people?"

He looked at her oddly, his brows tugging into a dubious frown, "No, very rarely. You're an exception. Though," he hung the bait, waiting for her eyes to meet his; they did, a startling combination of intelligence and curiosity, "you're welcome to play with me anytime…_grand _style," he choked on the word and Hitomi's eyes widened. Ohh great, damn her mouth for saying that; and she was an editor, huh?

"Mr. Fanel," she glared at him, "I hope you can control that tongue of yours."

He bit his lip which made them quiver, and then uncontrollable laughter poured out something that she found soothing—and yet for the fact that she found it so—annoyed her. "My tongue is one of the many things I don't think I could ever," he tried to keep his face straight, "control near you."

If the comment had affected her, she had done an excellent job of masking it and looked at him straight in the eye, her cheeks refusing to blush, refusing to submit. If Mr. Fanel expected a flushing school-girl, he'd have to go back many, many years. "I see you've improved in the matters of connotations—though your choice of the former, I would not _exactly_ boast."

"And," he shoveled his fingers through his hair, such an unprofessional act that it momentarily caught her attention, the deep, rich strands bending like Elysium fields, "you still can't add two and two together."

"Speaking of addition," she leaned her head to the side of the window, choosing to ignore his cryptic statement, "I suppose your bank accounts have been growing quite healthily in the past few years."

"I _suppose_," he said, mulling over the words.

"Care to share the zeros?"

His eyes twinkled, not the innocent-boyish type, but this dangerous manner in which he could switch from being humorous to…lethal, "I wouldn't mind sharing many things but the zeros, I do mind."

Her lips pursed, "I wish you'd stop."

"Stop?" his damning brows furrowed as if he cared.

Her rebellious irises met his, the brilliant jade colliding with red-mahogany, "All of these statements—it's not like that anymore—_we're_ not like that anymore," she didn't realize how _close_ he was to her and inched back, but he only scooted closer.

"Not like what?" he whispered.

"Look," she sighed exasperatedly, "let's get over with what happened years ago; give me my interview, you go on with your life, and let me go on with mine…unscathed."

He looked at her for a moment, disgust lifting his lips into a tight smile, "Yes, I come to haunt you every damned time just to hurt you, is that so?" Haunt her? He had _lived_, been locked into a recess of her heart, this remote spot she would sometimes sink into.

Her fingers actually shook, and she trembled, a reaction so alien to her, that she scolded herself.

He caught the shiver, his eyes searching her, and looking away, he cursed softly, "I'm sorry. I don't seem to have ever done well with my words."

She wanted to add bitterly… he did even worse with his actions.

Giving her a side-glance, he continued, "Nothing will happen that you don't want to."

"Oh right," she said sarcastically. "Your assurance is positively relaxing."

"And your humor is sinking into negative levels," a soft smile melted onto his face, gentling his features, and he spoke reflectively, "you always did that when you were nervous."

"Some would wonder why you'd remember that…hmm," she thought aloud mockingly, "maybe it has to do with the fact that you had uncanny ability to make me nervous?"

"Hitomi," the name was murmured lightly, delicately like a gentle, fleetingly beautiful note in a song whose memory still lingered.

"Wha—" It had completely halted all her thought; no, the way he called her…it had elicted a feeling, a memory of so long ago, of sweetness and tenderness, of a burning ache, of welcomed flames.

He pressed his fingers over her lips and grinned in that leisure manner, with twinkling eyes that silently promised, "You should learn how to better use your tongue."

Maybe he'd thought it would disarm her, or silence her, but it had the opposite effect. She was furious. "Oh," her eyes were green flames, hot, blistering, "is that how you view general females? Their tongues are," her gulp was almost imperceptible, but only _almost _and Van Fanel caught it, bringing a mental smile, "simply made for other purposes?" She didn't have to elaborate on her accusation as he gazed at her shrewdly.

"You know," he continued to stare at her as if she was this scientific enigma, "you always take things the wrong way, don't you?"

"Mr. Fanel," she snapped, "we aren't here to analyze my peculiarities—"

"That'll be Van. Mr. Fanel is my father."

"Oh," the innocent statement caught her off-guard, "Van."

It was as if in that moment something had broken, something had crashed, a veil had been lifted. His name held his essence that she'd wanted to deny, and with its avoidance she could somehow maintain her cool with using his last name, maintain this certain detachment from him, convince herself that this tall man was different from her Van.

The cell phone rang breaking the strange spell, its shrill tones having the effect of an alarm clock as it signaled the time to wake to reality.

He blinked his eyes in a jerky fashion, and hastily turned to fetch his phone, "Van?" The words on the other line were spoken hastily, loudly…

…and Hitomi Kanzaki watched Van Fanel first time in his life pale like a ghost.

"I'll be right there!" he said into the phone. He snapped it shut, and opened the window separating the driver and themselves, and spoke, "Al, head towards Moses Cone."

"Van—what happened?" she frowned.

"Sorry," his body was stiff like death, "there's a change of plans. I can't take you to dinner tonight," he warred with an expression of anxiety and sorrow.

"What's the matter?"

He took in a harsh breath, "It's my father. He's," the dark haired man paused for a second as if finding it hard to swallow, "had a stroke."

Oh. God.

_**A/N: Imagine this:**_

**_You're twenty-three, last year for college. As far as you know you're immortal and life couldn't be better. You have these four best friends. You do everything with them; eat, hang-out, study, attend classes, even…_pray_. You're each others' motivation. _**

_**At heart, you're good kids; no drugs, no drinking, no sleeping-around, and God-fearing.**_

_**You tell your buddy to wake you up when two of your friends are head to the airport to catch a flight for Christmas. You and your other two friends are going to drop them off. **_

_**Your friends take pity on you, you're just sleeping off from another hard day of exams…and don't wake you up…**_

…_**not knowing that that just saved your life.**_

_**You get a call in the morning; your four friends were in a car accident. The car had whirled, kept spinning, and crashed into a tree.**_

_**Two of your friends are dead.**_

_**The other two friends, one's in a coma, and one who was the genius amongst you, just barely hanging on to life-support—brain dead.**_

**You ask me what was the point of this? This wasn't me. It was the next worse thing. My brother's. They were his friends and in a flash, he's lost basically all of them. The doctors have little hope for the two. The thing is this: It's Christmas, and you might drink too much…but don't drive when you're drunk. They weren't drinking but there is no actual cause determined yet. Their parents are beyond devastated. My brother is beyond devastated. He's had to face all those grieving parents (since he's thousands of miles away from us). He was supposed to come home tonight. But what is he doing? Attending funerals. **

**Motto: Live each day as if you were going to die; never do anything that you might regret, merely a second later. …oh yeah, appreciate your friends. **

**As for my insecurities, must say I think it was like letter sent to Heaven. Approximately five minutes after I posted the chapter, my mom called me up and we had a long chat…an hour and a half?..about my insecurities etc. So, now, it's all good. **

**Btw, next chapter might take a lil' time to get posted up…give it four or so days. :P**

**Much, much, muuuch thanks to all the reviewers!!! **


	4. IV Beautiful Mind

**IV. Beautiful Mind**

_Until I felt the soft whisper_

_Of Your lips on mine, truly,_

_After eternities in death,_

_Did I breathe oncemore._

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked harshly.

"What do you _think_ I'm doing?" her look was defiant, a Joan of Arc with those eyes, "I'm coming with you," they'd swerved into the hospital driveway, and he had been surprised as she stood beside him firmly.

"No, you're not," he said mulishly. "Al will take you back home."

"Van Fanel, I may be your ex but I'm still human," she arched a brow, "and I happen to care about your father." She folded her arms around her chest, "Whether you let me come or not doesn't matter."

He buried his hands in his pant pockets and giving her a long look, turned around towards the emergency doors. She followed suit, struggling to keep pace with the long-legged man, and noticing for the first time, the true length of his frame. His gait had a confident allure, brisk steps evidencing his youth, but his speed gave a certain aura as if the man was running away from everything, too busy and caught in the fast-paced motion of life.

The smell of hospital was an intricate wreath of freshly bleached floors, of drifting cafeteria food, the sickening air of tension as some paced, and others sat on plastic chairs brooding over a beloved.

Hitomi let a shudder race through her spine and then shook her head to calm her mind.

The events happened in a blur, a fast forward motion of a television screen and not so much later, they found themselves confronting the entry to the hospital room.

He paused, pondering over what to say, what to do—what to feel. That unquenchable anger, vibrant like a spring flower blooming madly was still present; yet—there was this part that tugged at him, made him weak, made the thought of his father gone sound so… _alone, awful. _

His face stony, he pushed the door to his father's room and both entered, somehow knowing that they'd crossed a threshold where the form of language was silence.

His father was asleep. Blinking, he observed the man, Hitomi sinking into a chair beside him. The man—he was alien to him, honestly. When had the wrinkles brushed upon his face? Skin stretched over him in odd places, while it sagged in others; his hair was a peppered version of the lustrous locks, his body haggard, as if a spirit had lifted the life out of him.

The brief squeak of a chair, and he slid into a chair, the silence permeating in the room.

"Van?" she asked softly, her eyes looking blankly ahead of her, "What happened to Merle, your sister?"

A smile fought to play on his features, finally succeeding, with a insignificant tilt of his lips, "She's in Europe right now…she's an artist." He let his long legs slide on the floor leisurely, slowly, precisely, "Merle's taking the first flight back to see him."

"You haven't made up with him, have you?"

There was no question who they were talking about; Gaou. "No."

"Why? So many years…it must've been hard to stay angry."

His nostrils flared ever so slightly, "It's been ten years, Hitomi since I've last met you," he met her eyes for the briefest second, "…are you still angry with me?"

There was a slight change in her note, maybe a sign of a croak, "I don't know."

"There's your answer."

"It isn't," she gazed thoughtfully at the bed where the old man lay vulnerably and wondered whoever said that a certain age, old men became young children made a very valid statement—atleast, Gaou looked it physically. "The answer depends on whether you want to forgive him or not...whether you can." She shrugged, "I suppose both of you have to identify your problems, confront the issue, and forgive and forget."

The irony of her statement was not missed by the couple, Hitomi realizing a fraction of a moment after the words had spilled out. She still hadn't decided if she wanted to forgive him.

He smirked at her sarcastically, "Oh yes, aren't you a fine piece of philosophical thoughts? It's easy to preach," he sought her eyes, his look gentled just a bit, "but always hard to practice." Perhaps Van Fanel was feeling generous with his thoughts and he'd rarely engaged in such musings, "Take the idea of love." His eyes darkened a shade, the white curtains blowing gently as the air conditioner vent blew on it, "So many people want it all; yet they don't do the one thing that's necessary." He looked at her, "They don't love those close to them while trying to grasp loves that don't exist."

She gave an ironic chuckle, "I suppose there's enough 'love' going on in this world…sex scandals, unwanted preganancies…"

He looked at her oddly, halting her speech, "I wasn't talking about the selfish pull between two people whose inevitable conclusion was a memory best forgotten."

"Clarify," now, this was getting interesting.

He inhaled deeply, as if mentally breathing into a new dimension, "Love isn't about physical loyalty with a mixture of general affection. It encompasses more than physical desire, more than a spark. It is a loyalty of the senses." He smoothed his hair with his palm, "Your sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch—all of it. You're not loyal because your beloved is perfect," he expounded, "but because she's not—and therein lies the attraction. Conventional beauty lasts for a while, but," he smiled gently, so uncharacteristic that it had a startling affect, "the flaws proclaimed by society are truly what binds us."

She arched a brow, her lips smiling cynically, "Admirable sentiments—I think I read that somewhere." She didn't notice the slight paling of his face as she'd admitted the latter part, "but do you apply this?" She frowned, "And about loving the imperfections, I hear of it so much, that I don't believe in it anymore."

"I'd thought you'd be the last one to say that." He didn't mean it in a maliciously way and went on to make it lucid, "Like the way you get angry—sort of in that ubridled fashion. It's quite a sight."

She bit her lips. "Angry. Is that what you enjoyed making me?"

Oh, he would _die _to make her his, just once more if he could. A devilish smile curved, "Yes, a rare pleasure."

"Van," her voice was different, as if coming from a distant, haunted place, "did you—what did you do with Lia?"

"It wasn't anything like what everyone thought." His father coughed loudly and for that moment, their heads jerked to watch the figure. Mutely, they gazed, the old man's eyelashes blinking rapidly as a bird's flight, then finally opened.

The previous conversation was forgotten. They turned to him, "Van," the voice rasped.

He stood beside his bed and whispered softly, "Dad."

His gnarled hands, slow in their journey, traveled across the valleys and planes of the bed, to grasp his son's. "You look well."

"Can't say you do the same."

A tired smile crossed his proud face, "I didn't make it today."

Van Fanel, feeling charitable, was still not affectionate. It would take more than an incident such as this to melt the block of ice that separated his father from the citadel of his heart. Thus, he made no move to squeeze his father's hands, or dote on him like a dutiful son. "You never made anything for me."

Goau's lashes swept into a seal, "I'm sorry."

On cue, a nurse rushed in. "I really should say," she looked across at both of them, "you must be heading back. He needs to rest."

Van slipped his hand away from his fathers, the cool ones that should've held when he was young. "I'll be back tommorow morning, to check on him."

"Yup, that'll be fine."

His eyes swept across to Hitomi, her back straight, her figure still, staring. "You alright?"

"Yeah," she blinked.

"Let me drop you home."

He didn't even glance back at his father—though the thought had briefly crossed his mind.

OOO

Their ride back was quiet.

But, the memories of years in high school kept rushing back to her, kept screaming to be stepped into, felt once more. It wasn't merely the confrontation about Lia…it was everything. The days, slow, stretching had been awful. He had ignored her, not a glance in the hallways, not a word in the classes.

Nothing.

It was as if she had been terminated, wiped away from the face of the earth. She simply did not exist.

And nothing felt worse. She'd spent the prom with Celena and Dilandau, feeling every moment as if she was intruding, as if she the thirdwheel—which she was. That was it; she felt like an extraneous solution in a math problem, left out, not needed. And she was proud, and her pride jabbed her, refused to let her seek him, and it said nay to glances, or to the initiation of conversations.

And the night. Oh, _the_ night. She couldn't begin to explain it, to define it. It had been as if she was reborn, as if she had finally crossed into another realm where the only thing existed were her senses: touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing. The friction of their flesh, his exquisite taste, the fragrance of his skin, the look in his eyes, his melting whispers …

…they were stolen moments of the fragile heaven she had constructed.

But what did it prove? Physical intimacy did not extend toward emotional sentiments; his cruel indifference, his cool, dismissive behavior, all went to evidence it.

"We're here," he interrupted her reverie smoothly.

"Oh," she grabbed her purse, "Thank-you." Going to get the door, it opened when she grasped it. She smiled at Van Fanel, his stance so austere, so taut as he waited for her to step out.

If she thought he was going to leave her then, obviously, she had made a mistake. "I'll escort you."

She arched a brow, "I'm not handicapped."

"Pretend you're crippled, then," he retorted.

She shook her head and stumbled onto the steps, slicing the card through the machine and automatically, the door opened.

The lobby was pleasantly lit, with a huge Christmas tree grazing its ceiling. They climbed a flight of stairs, not bothering with the elevator (Hitomi had always thought it had been a good form of exercise.) She turned right, very much aware of the male just a hair away from her.

She paused at her door. He met her gaze, "I'm sorry about tonight. Maybe another time?"

The corners of her lips turned, "I'll hunt you down, you bet."

"Ah, the article." She quirked a brow; why else would she hunt him? Not for other purposes, surely.

The lights were glaring casting shadows on his face, making Hitomi Kanzaki realize that the man before her looked exhausted. A raw frankness lingered in his eyes, his face becoming a mask for emotions. His teasing, his humor, all of it had been a cover-up, so that she'd not notice, she'd not pay attention to the hollowness that grew within him spreading like a cancerous disease.

"Hey, Van?" her voice was soft.

"Yes?"

Trying to hide a smile and not succeeding, she queried, "I suppose it would be a bit forward of me—but, do you think I can kiss you good-night?"

His eyes widened. "You're not obliged to; this wasn't a date." If a woman had to _ask_ him whether they could kiss him, truly, Van Fanel should retire into an old-age home.

Yet, he wasn't sure he wanted her to kiss him, to tease him with a mere whiff of her essence.

Where was that address for the old-home?

Patience was a virtue the green-eyed woman valued very much in all individuals—but one that she'd always been short of.

Planting her hands firmly on his shoulders, she went on her tiptoes and touched her lips to his in what she'd hoped was a friendly brush.

It was a momentary spell, a whisper of yesterday that made them halt, let the memory melt over their lips.

His lips instinctively, hungrily, caught hers ever so gently, trying to sate the starvation in small portions.

When he blinked, she felt his lashes rake her cheeks in a sweet caress, in a kiss of remembrance.

It was as if she was getting sucked into him, one more moment later and she'd forget the purpose of her kiss—

She pulled away, her eyes bright and incredulous, "Good night, Mr. Fanel. I hope your father feels better."

He stared at her for a second, a deep sort of gaze that made her want to seek a hiding place, yet she met his gaze unflinchingly.

He turned…

..and jerked his head back, just as he'd taken a step towards the stairs, "You should let your hair down—it looks nice."

She blinked rapidly, a half smile on her face, her mouth slightly agape, not sure how to respond as the man continued walking ahead.

Shaking her head, a smile still playing over her lips, she entered her apartment and threw the keys onto the table.

Removing her coat, she shoved a hand through her hair.

What was she in a mood for, what was she in a mood for? Ahh, poetry. Make that _romantic_ poetry. Definitely.

Almost in wonderment, she brushed her fingertips on her lips.

OOO

After promising herself a last cracker from the _Wheat Thins _box, she decided, woefully, that she was fatally addicted to them. Too lazy to cook or order out, she had changed into pajamas and gotten under layers of blankets, cozy with her favorite book of poetry.

The gold letters were elegantly written on the red, deep burgundy hued hardcover, _Hitomi_.

It was an odd occurrence, one that had given her a good laugh over when she'd gotten the book for a birthday present when she'd turned twenty. A poet using her name for the title of book that was a collection of love poems? He must've been insane.

Perhaps she had thought of it odd at that time, but Hitomi was a common enough name. She had two other employees with the same name. Who knew? Did they go to bed sighing over the musings of some random poet that had named a best-seller _Hitomi_, pretending it was written for them? Maybe, or maybe not.

She knew she did.

So, she was a romantic after all; she couldn't help it—no woman with a heart could help getting pulled by the raw intensity of the poems. And somewhere in the world, there lived a man/woman (who knew? The poet could be a female) whose loving words had swept the female population into fantasies. That was the other magnetic attraction; they were published under no name with just a bare "_For you, princess. Always," _in the dedication.

Oh, the world was full of princesses; the commonality being proven that she herself had been called one by Van a few ages ago and also by others she'd briefly dated.

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, playing the game she had always enjoyed with the book. Not peeking, she opened a random page, then promptly cracked her eyes open, letting her green irises skim the page.

_You ask me when I need You?_

_I need you in the hiss of a violent storm,_

_When another sort of tempest rages within me,_

_In the unhurried, lingering days of summer,_

_As I let the night of loving You melt over my tongue._

_I need You…_

_When autumn leaves whirl their farewell,_

_When my arms cage You in this eternal moment, _

_When the breath from your laughter clings to my skin,_

_When the snow kisses the tips of my lash._

She inhaled deeply. Reading things such as this reminded her why she'd fallen in love with the idea of romance. His writing style (Hitomi had decided that the author had to be a _he_) wasn't particularly original, neither were his images like the famed Neruda with his sonnets, but this—this piece had this unrefined, naked honesty that made everyone's heart waiver, shiver. It's power wasn't in the style, but the amateur, pure, glow the words reflected—even as some poems took an erotic turn, they were sweetly so—as if they were desperate longings of a man who wasn't a poet or even a wordsmith, but one who'd become thus for his 'princess.'

It tugged, it pulled, and the little snippets wove into a complex story, a romance.

She continued onto the next page, her thumb on the sheet, her mouth in a perpetual gasp as her eyes traveled over a stanza.

Your tears were wayward 

_Fallen constellations,_

_Imprisoned within the galaxy_

_Of my lips._

She smiled; she would kill for a guy that thought remotely like that. In her experience, many renownked poets she adored who wrote beautiful love poetry were, with a few exceptions…well, targeting a particular male audience—take Michaelangelo for example.

His compositions were breathtaking.

He also happened to be gay.

Ahh, the losses for women; she grinned hazily at a memory… Didn't Van write poetry once?

She chuckled.

Him writing sentimental love poetry was about as likely as a frog turning into a prince.

With words swirling in the mists of her mind, a generally warm feeling permeated through Hitomi Kanzaki ensuring her good dreams. Hmm, maybe in her heart of hearts she wished frogs did turn into princes.

OOO

"Sir, you have a call on line four," the operator chimed to Van Fanel.

"Thanks. Who is it?" He shuffled the papers into a stack, and continued his doodle from yesterday.

"A Ms. Kanzaki." The tip of the pencil broke and he blinked. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, that'll be all." He promptly jabbed the number four button, and waited, "Hitomi?"

The voice teased, "Thought you'd forgotten me." Had she realized she that'd never been forgotten by him?

"So, what do you want?" He leaned back on his chair.

"If I could get access to the database in your brain that would be excellent."

He sighed, "Where are you?"

"Outside your building," she grinned. "In my car."

He almost fell off of his chair and had the idiotic urge to look out the window, which he did—but it was only a peep, "Wait, there. I'll come to you."

"Perfect," she inhaled, "let's have a long chat."

"See you in a bit." He hung up, quickly grabbing his dark coat. He wasn't sure he was willing to chat with her about the matters she chose.

OOO

"You know, you still surprise me." She laughed lightly, "I would've never guessed that you liked ice-cream in the middle of December."

He quirked a brow, "Among other rare pleasures that I enjoy all year, one of them is ice-cream." He continued to take big bites from the container that fit his palm.

She sipped her vanilla coffee. They were sitting on a bench that overlooked the sea, on the brick-pathway that had been a favorite meeting-place for lovers. Rocks in various shapes and sizes stretched for a good distance, then met the dangerous, intimidating waters.

"You refuse to talk about your monetary issues. Fine." She asked calmly, "What about personal? I hear you're dating someone."

He chewed the ice-cream purposely to stall (and Hitomi had faintly wondered why anybody would chew ice-cream—didn't it just melt on his warm tongue aided with just a bare usage of his teeth? Oh, she groaned inwardly, she wouldn't even want to think of tongues—or teeth, for that matter—around him!) "What about her?" He shrugged in indifference. He was cautious, she could tell. Nope, he was not going to offer any information to her, not unless she'd purposely asked, and pushed him to spit it out.

"Well, for one, it would be nice to know her name." She slid one of her hands into a pocket.

"It's Diana," he said hoarsely.

"Ah, nice name." She purposely fixed her eyes on him, "There are a million Dianas—a last name would help."

He smiled faintly, "We value our privacy." She could only guess at the private matters the two conducted, she thought wryly. "And plus, she's not ready."

"Not ready for what?"

"She doesn't like being in the center of attention—not the glamorous type."

She mmhmmed in understanding, "And her occupation?"

His hand jerked, "Writer. She's a writer."

"What does your Diana write?"

He actually smiled, and if her observations weren't wrong and in typical male-style, replied again with a nonchalant shrug, "I haven't a bloody idea."

"What do you do that doesn't bring forth the subject of her job?" she asked exasperatedly. "You're not aware of elementary things such as what she writes."

His eyes were twinkling, and apparently, he'd grown comfortable. He leaned in towards her, his breath warm. Too comfortable, she corrected herself, "Let's just say this…our activities do not have to involve a lot of talk."

She pulled away disgustedly, getting up from the bench, "Just when I think you were likable…"

"What?" he yelled in outrage, standing up, "She's a very active person, she's very physical!"

"_Ohh_," she groaned in pain, shielding her face with her hands as if it could block the rapid images that slid across her mind.

He threw back his head and laughed, his eyes glowing wickedly, yet his voice was the epitome of innocence, "I was talking about skiing, playing tennis, and sky diving." They brimmed with mirth skimmed over her frame, "I'd suggest you get your mind checked—it's been rusting in the gutter for too long."

Despite herself, Hitomi Kanzkai's shoulder's shook in hilarity, and when she turned around, she met his gaze…

…and they were both caught with the sincerity, the silver encrusted moments of the past that clung to them like mist.

Waves molded themselves passionately on the shore like desperate lovers seeking to be sated.

A crooked smile played across her face when he spoke, "More than anything, you could say Diana is a secret romantic…"

She was all ears.

OOOO

He paced as his father sat calmly on the seat, drinking cooled tea. "Would you talk to me?"

Maroon eyes met his own dark ones, with a mixture of confusion and rage, "Oh yes, Dad, you're too many years late to get involved in my life."

He placed his cup on the table, "Van, I never meant it to be that way," his voice was quiet, grave. "I-I," he coughed, "I was always proud of you."

He turned away disgustedly. "Sure you were. Did you support me when I decided what I wanted to major in? You always were looking for your damned successor to take over your practice."

"I admit, that was my fault."

"And in all these years nobody told you that you were a slow learner. You've made so many repeated faults that my accountant couldn't count them." His eyes, oh his eyes, they were fire, angry fire that threatened to burn down everything its gaze struck.

A flush rose to the old man's cheeks, "I never had the luxuries you had when you grew up, whether you realize it or not, Van. Your mother—when I first married her, we had close to nothing between us. All I did…" his words faltered, "it was for all of you."

He ran a hand through his jumbled locks, and recognized the danger that was growing. He was loosening his fortress, getting swayed by his father's words. Oh no, it couldn't be. "What about that? You didn't care about us! Mom died just because of you!"

His father didn't answer with a scathing remark, but with such simplicity, such stark, naked truth, that it undid Van, made him falter ever so slightly, "I _loved_ your mother. I always did."

But not for long.

"Sure you did," he smirked faintly with despise, "But you worshipped your goddamn _job_ more."

He swallowed the burn in his throat, "Van," his voice was firm, yet frail, "I didn't come here to blame you or deny taking it on my shoulders—but precisely to take it all." He met the rebellious eyes of his son, "A father would have to be lying or be the filthiest creature on the universe to say he didn't love his children. You could be a damn criminal, and I would hate your deeds, but never _you_, the boy I fell in love with, in whose eyes I glimpsed the reason for my living, for my work."

"Stuff all your sentimental shi—"

"_Listen_ to me!" he raised his voice. "I've always damned myself!" He fisted his hands in frustration, "I would want to talk to you but you and your ways," his eyes were wild, darting about, "your eyes, they would push me away, lock you so far away that I could never reach you!" He heaved, the feeling swamping him, the desperation lacing his decree.

Van's voice was emotionless with the barest shrug of his shoulders, "So, talk."

The old man sealed his eyes for a moment, "I loved your mother, love her even now…but somehow, as things went along, I forgot," he opened his eyes, "I forgot the reason for my ambitions, got carried away in the lust for wealth and your dear lovely, mother, oh she knew exactly what was happening to me. But," the admission was painful, "I was in denial; thought she couldn't understand me that I was doing for her, for all of you. Somehow, somewhere, all of this got warped and I didn't realize how the situation had skittered out of control."

"Out of control would be an understatement."

He gulped, "Yes, it would." He ran a hand through his hair, "Do you know why I could never stay for Christmas?"

"No."

"Your mother told me on Christmas eve that she was pregnant with you," he inhaled nostaligiactally, "and every Christmas, I thought of her, thought of you—thought of what could've been." His eyes crinkled with such tenderness, his smile curving with such a gentility, "She was a delicate woman, didn't even look pregnant at five months—and by God, when you were born prematurely, so small, so frail," he smiled, "she clutched you and swore that she hadn't seen anyone so fragile to claim her heart so completely."

"So, she loved me," he shrugged, yet a chord in his neck leapt.

"And she left something for you." Reaching into his pocket, he revealed an envelope. "A letter, Van. A letter for you that I kept from you because I was a damn selfish man."

He slowly took the envelope, his brows in a furrow. Silently opening it with his father's gaze traveling over his figure, he unfolded its contents.

_Dearest Van,_

_It's snowing here and I think of you; yet, I don't need the snow to be reminded of you. Your laughter, your quirks, your love, are still lodged in my very breath, and with every breath, I think of you, how much I love you._

Maybe you're angry at me, maybe you felt as if I didn't love you and chose Merle over you. It was never so. I needed you to be with your father. He loves you, but he also needs you…desperately. The last thread of his family is in you, honey. In you, he sees himself; in you, I see him, his beautiful, young self whom I fell in with.

The words were blurring, his eyes were stinging, the little pearls of tears threatened to spill out of his eyes, yet they didn't after the years of practice. Only a hoarse whisper came out of his lips, "Why? Why didn't you show me?" All those days he'd pondered over what his mother thought of him, whether she'd truly forsaken him, cast him off as someone like his own father, because the resemblance was pointed too many a time during his youth.

His father's answer was equally hoarse, cracking in places, "Because I didn't want you to leave me alone." His voice was heartbreakingly remorseful, stripped of all pride, "Your mother displayed her affection more naturally than I did. I didn't want you to go like everyone else."

The thought startled him, how it had mirrored his own.

"Tell me honestly," he met his father's eyes that were only a darker shade of maroon, "why didn't you try to meet Mom after the divorce?"

"Van, we men are seldom worthy of the women we love and marry. And I was disgusted with myself," his lips turned cruelly, the cruelty directed towards himself, "and I didn't think she'd want me back, accept me. Maybe," his stare was hard, "I was a coward, even, afraid of rejection."

There was a gaping crack in his perfect fortress.

OOO

"How's that article coming along?" Milly grinned at Hitomi.

"Oh," she sighed, "I've gotten a good portion on his girlfriend," she ignored the slight stab in her heart, the little ache that she had refused to let grow, "But, he's zipped his lips about his monetary issues. Don't know whether he contributes to charities etc."

"Aww," she filed the paper, placing it in a manila folder. "_And_," she winked, "is he as gorgeous as they say?"

She whistled low. "_Gorgeous_ would be an understatement, Milly. You would say 'no' to Achilles," she referred to Brad Pitt from _Troy__, "_to have wild sex with you, if Fanel offered you the same." She was smiling widely; she knew the effect it would have on Millerna.

The blond squealed girlishly, her hand dramatically lying on her heart, "If that Dryden doesn't freakin' give me that proposal, you'd better introduce me to this Mister…unless you want him for yourself, of-course." She winked.

"Oh, no thank-you!!" A peculiar heat infused through her cheeks, "You can keep him for all eternities, as far as I'm concerned."

Milly particularly loved to tease Dryden, sighing over movies, loving the outrageous look in his eyes as he tried to reason that her liking or admiration for an actor was not worthy. But Hitomi knew this to be true; Dryden was Millerna's Prince Charming, the man she'd take over any.

"Oh," she shook her head sympathetically, "the man beneath the sexy surface not good enough, huh?"

She tilted her chin upwards, "Maybe."

"Why not have a little leap of faith?"

She shrugged, "Beautiful people tend to attract more, and the attraction sometimes leads to unfaithfulness. Simply speaking," her eyes were obscure with a touch of loss, "I don't trust him."

OOO

She had seven days left, precisely a week. For one whole week, she'd not been able to reach him; he'd always been away, or a message had been left that he'd get back to her.

Van.

She began to worry, her mind began to wander towards him, but the strangest thing was that she had an awful feeling it didn't relate even faintly to the deadline coming up for her article and the information she needed from him.

It was irritating how much a person began to care for another…even when they didn't fully like the other, even when they were flashed with all their tarnished antics; thus this illogical feeling became almost a nuisance to Hitomi Kanzaki.

So, it was with a startle that Hitomi Kanzaki found herself answering the call of Michael Reynolds. "Michael! How are you?" She mixed sugar in her vanilla tea.

"Fine," he answered brusquely, "Van wanted me to e-mail you the details of his financial records."

"Oh." The spoon was forgotten. "Where is he? I rather wanted an interview."

There was a pause.

"You know he contributed to charities. Most of his money went to charities," the man ranted, ignoring her question, "the guy had so much money that a generation wouldn't have to lift a finger and still live like kings."

"Michael—where is Van?"

His voice was hoarse, "He met his father. He's left the office after a few days later. Gone up to the mountains."

"Where? Is it something he's doing with his," she gulped slightly, "girlfriend?"

"_Girlfriend?_" the man asked incredulously, "What bloody girlfriend?"

Her hands trembled, her knees weakened, "Diana. He has a girlfriend named Diana. She's a writer…they go—"

"Sorry to say Ms. Kanzaki," he spoke firmly, slicing her words short, "that's a load of bull crap."

Her lips curled, her heart raced, her head hurt as she almost felt dizzy. Two hours. Had their talk been all lies? Well, he was one heck of an accomplished liar.

"Where the hell did he go?"

The man barked his laughter, "Not a clear address to where he disappeared."

Her body was alert, tense, "Email me the directions as best as you can."

"Why?"

She took a deep breath.

"I'm going after him." Her face was set in determination. "Your Mr. Fanel has some questions to answer in person."

It was just a matter of time, now, to when she faced the man she had so loved ten years ago.

**A/N: **First off all, a great big thanks to all those who have extended their condolences towards the unfortunate accident-situation. Sadly, the third friend also passed away. But, call me sentimental, foolish—whatever—but my brother was telling me that he'd never seen his friend look even more peaceful, never seemed to glow as he did. My thought? I think he went to Heaven. I hope so, truly. You guys are juuust wonderful! I think your prayers and good wishes have really been helpful. His fourth friend opened his eyes from the coma today but he's still in shock, doesn't speak. :sighs: I'm just praying each day that he gets better. Once again, thank you, thank you, thank youuu!

As for other things. :P I hope all of you had an excellent, safe and love filled Christmas and an equally great New Year! Well, shortly after I posted the last chapter I was whisked away in an impromptu plan to D.C to spend the 31st there. So, we went to D.C and eventually spent the 31st in Georgetown, with my family and ohh goosh, it was soooo much fun! Well, we drove up there (we had five hours!), so :muffles laughter: my mother thought it was a great time for confession time and confrontations, so she was asking us all of anything we wanted to confess! And we had a round of checking the guys' wallets :bursts out laughing: to see whose pics they might be keeping there. xDDD Thankfully, nobody kept anybody's… As for confessions, like any one of us would confess anything!!!...I would DIEEEE before I told her I wrote romances and read romances (I think though she knows…never could hide anything from her) but who would want to talk about that in front of three brothers?!! But yeah, basically, the whole experience was really bonding.

But I did miss all of you guys. I DID miss my writing!!

:grins: As for the next chapter. I have a little **SPOILER** so do not continue to read if you don't want to find out. The next chapter will end with this: "Take off your clothes." :wicked grin: Dooon't worry about the rating!!!!

**END SPOILER!**

Oh yeah, thanks soooooooo very much again for the reviews. Sleep with the angels (hmm it's about 11:37 p.m here).


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